


Our Little Family

by 1FrozenRutabaga



Series: Our Little Family [1]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Angst, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Family, Gen, Gore, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Bullying, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mentions of religion, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2019-07-15 17:32:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 35
Words: 124,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16067939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1FrozenRutabaga/pseuds/1FrozenRutabaga
Summary: After years of enduring the horrid abuse of his father, Mike escaped with no thoughts of going back. It’s months afterwards that he finds an ad for the night-shift at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza, the only place where he had a childhood. The hope of rekindling his friendship with his once secret friends is quickly shattered, because they're out for his blood. The janitor thinks he's a druggie, his boss treats him like a person, and Mike's struggling with demons that have plagued him since he was born. Death seems to be the only way for Mike's story to end, but maybe, just maybe, he can find something to give him hope again.(Part 1 Complete!)





	1. Another, but new, Day

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided to post my AU that I've been working on for four years. I've worked very hard on it, and I think it's time to share my work!
> 
> Five Nights at Freddy's is owned by Scott Cawthon. AU, personalities, modified character designs/human character designs, OCs belong to me. I hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike is a quiet teenager with dark secrets. It seems his favorite childhood restaurant does, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I got rid of Billy, I'm sorry)

_“Did you tell?”_

_“I-I didn’t tell anyone, sir, I promise.”_

_“You told, I know you did.”_

_“I didn’t tell, sir! Please, I promise!”_

_“Who did you tell, you little bastard?”_

_“No one!”_

_**“Who the fuck did you tell?!”**_

Mike awoke with a sharp inhale of breath, blue eyes wide and wet as they locked with the white ceiling. His tangled limbs had been restrained by the fabric of blankets, not calloused hands. The liquid coating his body was sweat, cold sweat, not warm and sticky blood from his mouth and nose. The sensation of heat on his body wasn’t his broken ribs, but of the sun shining through the parted curtains.

_Never again._

The teen sat up after he had gotten his breathing under control. A pale hand ran through the disheveled black locks that were heavy with sweat. Mike groaned quietly. Great, now he was all sweaty and sticky because he couldn’t get up and move on. He looked at the clock on his nightstand and felt a pang of relief. He didn’t have to be at his job interview for a few hours, so he could eat, shower, and go over how to not screw up getting the job. He slipped out of the bed, his toes digging momentarily into the scraggly carpet like anchors.

The water that came from the shower head was freezing. The apartment could have been a worse one, so Mike was thankful for at least some water, and he was used to taking cold ones anyway. No one paid water in the building because there was literally never any hot water even if you paid your dues, so it was an extra bill off your poor back. There were a lot of bills you could either not pay or scoot past. It was the reason the building was so decrepit and cheap, but Mike couldn’t complain when he could be sitting out in the cold like he had a few months back.

Of course, Mike didn't find any of that out on his own. He would have floundered and flipped if it wasn't for Miss Lady, as she wouldn't tell him her real name. A hard woman with a curly afro, deep tawny skin and a body she kept like a temple, and a need for coke, she had informed Mike of the building when he first arrived. She had taught Mike the ropes; how to live here without causing trouble, how to make neighbors leave you alone, how scoot by overdue bills. She treated Mike like a person, somewhat, and as long as he didn't cause any trouble and kept his mouth shut about her business, things were fine.

The walls of the apartment were practically falling apart. Mike was serious about keeping the rodents that inhabited the building away from his meager amounts of food. Five dollars a rat was expensive, but Mike didn’t have the heart to empty a dozen mousetraps a day, so he paid Miss Lady and she appreciatively took the money to go get some more drugs that she sometimes offered in return. She tended to rage on Mike since he never accepted anything from her, but he knew that she was at least a little thankful that she didn’t have to share her stashes.

As Mike ate his breakfast, which was a packet of baby pancakes and some tea, he looked at the laundry pile. It wasn’t a pile per say, but the teen did everything he could to keep it to a minimum. The washers and driers were in the basement, but was a lot of stuff down there that Mike had to avoid to prevent himself from getting just one STD. Thankfully he had ran away after he took health class and not before, but Mike faintly wondered if he had caught something by breathing the air down there. Of course, the massive lack of proper weight and clothing left him frigid and his body weak, and illnesses were something that were a distraction and nuisance, especially when he found a job. Getting up to date on his vaccinations, however, were risky, because then someone could find him.

Mike dressed himself gingerly. His usual clothes were thin and ragged, but he had bought a nice black sweater and a pair of jeans for a cheap price. He couldn’t go into a job interview looking like he came straight from the shelter, even though he actually had for the smaller jobs before he got the apartment. He pulled the sweater on, biting his lip as they passed over the thin scabs that dotted his arms. Those couldn’t be seen either. He put on his jacket for an extra measure. No one would think it was weird since it was February.

This job was going to be different, much different. The ad in the paper had listed an incredible paycheck for one week. Mike was lucky to make barely ninety with his meager jobs, so one-hundred twenty was like a dream come true. Of course, Mike forced himself not to expect anything. He highly doubted that someone like him could get the job, and over the week of waiting Mike’s mind had been conjuring up the cruelest scenarios of how it would happen. It wasn’t even just the money that was going to make this job different, but again Mike couldn’t get his hopes up.

He looked at the time. He had an hour, which meant he needed to start moving now. Mike grabbed his bag, the black fabric raggedy and slowly falling apart. If he got the job, maybe he could afford a new one, but he was content with his little bag. Mike snatched his house key from the table and slipped on his worn sneakers before walking out of the apartment.

The day was chilly despite the full bought of sun. It had snowed last night, but it was already turning to slush under the sun’s rays. Mike couldn’t help, as he walked past the alleyways that are filled with snow and trash, but remember his first months without a roof over his head. He still really felt like he had taken his already thin and small blankets for granted back at the House, along with his small, meager room. The shelter he had lived in for most of those months, A Helping Hand, had given Mike a large reprieve from the bitter cold. Mike felt bad for giving them a false name, or at least a false last name because he didn’t have the heart to completely lie to them, but he couldn’t risk any volunteers or workers recognizing him from a few towns over.

The building came into sight when Mike rounded the corner. He had to stop and stare at it. The pizzeria looked exactly the same, at least on the outside. The electric sign was off, the logo of music notes and various mediocre foods. There was, Mike noticed, a difference with the paint. It was brighter, fresher looking. Other than that, the place hadn’t changed.

Of course, Mike knew as he crossed the street, that didn’t mean that _something_ hadn’t changed.

The sounds of children ran in Mike’s ears as he pushed open the glass door, the smells of the pizzeria stabbing at him with nostalgia. The smell of pizza, cake, and sauce made his mouth water, the sounds of the people in the other room echoing through his head. For a minute, time rewound, and Mike was a little child holding mama’s hand as she walked him in before she disappeared for the day.

“Hello!” a woman’s voice chirped. Mike looked over at the counter. A woman with curly black hair and bright lipstick was stationed behind the register. Pictures and children’s drawings were posted on the wall behind her, along with plushies and toys that could be bought. “Welcome to Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza! How can I help you today?”

Mike shuffled up to the counter. To his right was the entrance to the main room. He could see the party tables out of the corner of his eye. “I’m here for the night guard position,” he said, his voice meek and eyes on the ground.

He didn’t see her wide-eyed reaction or the horror on her face. She cleared her throat, however, and quickly masked it. “I’ll go get my manager,” she told him as she began to move from behind the counter, the cheer in her voice dimmed. Mike didn’t miss that.

When she was out of sight, Mike looked into the main room. Kids were running around, playing tag or just horsing around. Mike remembered that there were booths along the wall, and he could imagine parents sitting there eating pizza and talking with each other; normal families here for fun.

“Hey there!” a voice boomed.

Mike jumped a mile, gasping. He jerked his head to face the blond man that had come around the corner. The man was tall and thin, a white business shirt and striped tie clashing wonderfully his black pants. His eyes were a warm brown, filled with light that reached down to his smile.

“Sorry; didn’t mean to scare you,” the man said, giving an apologetic chuckle. He held out his hand, which Mike fought from flinching from. “I’m Logan, the manager. Nice to meet you.”

Mike hesitantly lifted a hand and returned to gesture. “Hi,” he whispered.

Logan seemed satisfied with the response, even if Mike was looking at his shoulder. “Let’s go to my office. It’s a little warmer in there.”

They walked past the booths against the wall. People were sitting in them, sipping pop and eating fries over their pizza. A few kids ran past Mike’s leg. He caught a glance of the stage, and his eyes ripped away despite the burning urge to run over and find a place to watch the show. He had seen Chica, seen her white and confetti bib and her plastic cupcake as her beak opened and closed. He hadn’t gotten a good enough look to see Freddy or Bonnie.

Logan’s office wasn’t too clean, but not too messy. Papers were scattered on the desk, a little bowl of mints sitting near the edge with a desk lamp parallel to it. A shelf was nestled in the corner with a few filing cabinets next to it. Two chairs sat before desk, cushioned with green and comfortable looking.

“As you can see, you have two options for chairs,” Logan said with a playful grin. “I’ve been told the right is softer than the left, but that the left smells better. I’ll need your rating before you leave.”

Mike cracked a small smile. He picked the right one and sank into it. It was pretty soft. As much as he liked nice smells, it wasn’t often he got to sit somewhere actually comfortable.

Logan slipped into his chair behind the desk. “So,” he began, “I’d like to start out with some standard things, like your name and stuff. We’ll go on from there; you know how this all works, right?”

“Yes,” the teen said quietly.

“Good. What’s your name, sport?”

The nickname made something in Mike lift a little. “Michael Schmidt,” he responded. He had to force out his last name.

Logan became still. “Michael Schmidt?” His eyes went distant, his mouth falling open just so. Mike looked away. It wouldn’t be the first time he was asked about his last name.

“Yeah,” Mike managed to say. “Is there an issue?”

The blond remained like that for another moment, then seemed to realize that Mike was still there. He straightened himself, making Mike tense. “Sorry,” Logan said. He cleared his throat. “No. No, there’s no issue. The name just caught me for a second; my wife’s workplace has someone named Schmidt and he mentioned he had children.” His expression became soft. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Oliver, would you?”

Mike nearly let out a sigh of relief. “No,” he said.

“Sorry if I scared you,” Logan apologized sheepishly. “My wife tells me to have a realization somewhere other than public. She says I look like a zombie.” A small chuckle. Then, “How old are you, Mike? You go by Mike, right? Michael?”

“Mike is fine,” the teen told him. Mike shifted, suddenly interested in picking at his sleeve. “I’m seventeen.”

If he hadn’t looked away, he would have seen the look of utter horror on Logan’s face. He would have seen that it was almost exactly like the woman’s at the front desk if he had known her reaction, but he didn’t. When Mike forced himself to stop messing with his sleeve, he looked back up. Logan didn’t look any different, but there was something in those chocolate eyes that made Mike uneasy.

“Do you have any family? Parent, grandparent?”

Mike didn’t hesitate. “No.”

The questions were simple and ones Mike knew how to answer, like his hobbies or experience. It was a simply interview really, but it was much more important and different than any other one he’d ever done.

The last question of the hours came up.

“It’s twelve to six,” Logan reminded him. “You’re pretty young to be staying up that late, what with school and all.”

Mike shrugged. He hadn't told Logan the truth about school. “Insomniac,” he said, which was true. “It wouldn’t be any different than what I usually do.”

Logan paused. Then, “What size clothing do you wear?”

“Small is fine,” Mike said.

Something passed by Logan’s eyes again, something that Mike really wanted to ask about, but then that smile was back and a tan hand was extended towards him. “I’ll be sure the uniform fits.”

Mike stared, baffled for a moment, before extending his hand and shaking Logan’s. “Thank you, sir,” he managed to say, giddiness dancing in his chest.

“No need to call me that, sport. Logan’s just fine.” Logan stood from his chair and pivoted around his desk. “I’ll get your uniform. I might be a minute, so feel free to stack up on mints. I’ve got plenty.”

After Logan walked out the door, Mike hesitated for a moment before reaching and grabbing some mints out of the bowl. They didn’t taste the best, he realized after he popped one in his mouth, but it would help fill the usual ache of an empty stomach.

Logan came back after a few minutes. Mike turned his head to see the man carrying a folded uniform. On top of it was a little cupcake on a plate, its icing white and dotted with rainbow sprinkles.

“Here’s your uniform, Mike,” Logan said. “I snagged you a cupcake from the counter, too. It’s chocolate.”

Mike stood from his chair, eyes wide at the cupcake. “Oh.” He carefully took the balance of clothes and food into his arms. “Thank you.”

“If you ever want anything from the counter, just ask,” Logan said, smiling warmly. “Being an employee has its perks. Just don’t go overboard and you’ll be okay.”

“Thank you… Logan,” Mike managed to say the man’s name. His chest hurt and his throat felt tight. It was rare when someone showed him kindness. Logan had no reason to be nice to him; the simple act of giving Mike a cupcake was nearly enough to make him cry.

“Your keys are in your uniform pocket,” Logan said. “Just lock the door behind you when you come in and unlock when you’re done.” He clasped his hands together. “I’ll show you the security office.”

Walking out of Logan’s office, the sounds of children came back at full volume to Mike’s ears. Some people had left, new parents filling their seats. Kids were playing tag and tossing their plushies at each other. Mike’s eyes, however, glided back to the main stage.

The band was singing another song. Freddy’s voice was the most notable, his voice a deep, joyful sound. His chocolate fur seemed a little dirty under the light, but his black bow tie and top hat were shiny and polished. His icy blue eyes had that spark, the one that held the secret that he and the others had told Mike when he was a little boy. He moved fluidly, singing into his microphone with robotic vigor.

Bonnie was strumming his shiny guitar. Like Freddy’s fur, his seemed dirty, but the dark lilac and deep periwinkle fluff was kept well. His rosy eyes matched his bow tie, both holding that familiar shine. He didn’t really sing, he was just the guitarist after all, but Mike remember what his voice sounded like past the static and blanks in his memory.

Chica’s voice was high, but harmonious with Freddy’s. Her short, sunflower feathers looked more like fur. Mike could see the smears of dirt on her suit. Her cupcake was stationary on its plate, eyes blank as its owner pivoted and swayed. Chica’s orchid eyes held the spark, but Mike could see that it wasn’t as joyful as it used to be.

Even though they didn’t go near Pirate’s Cove, Mike found his nerves tingling and his head pounding faintly when he looked at those purple curtains and translucent stars.

The hallway was empty of children. The small roadblocks kept them from getting back. They were…fairly decrepit, Mike noticed. There were cobwebs and pieces of the ceiling gone, wires hanging like cut ropes from the openings. Boxes were stacked in the corner at the end of the hallway, papers scattered around them. Mike looked at Logan, but the man was facing ahead.

The office wasn’t the most spacious. A bulky desk sat at the front, a swivel chair in the middle of the room. Two windows were on opposite sides of the rooms. Computer screens sat on the desk, black and reflecting the room, drawings and posters perched on the wall above them. A trashcan sat empty next to the desk. A tablet was lying face up.

But it was the doors that made Mike pause; there weren’t any, just empty spaces where doors would be. He noticed the two block buttons on the wall next to the doorways, one labeled the lights and the other labeled the door, but…

Logan scooped up the tablet. “This is the tablet,” he said, turning to Mike. “When you turn it on, it’ll show the whole layout of the building and where all the cameras are. You’d just press the camera you want to bring up the feed.”

Mike nodded. His eyes mapped out the room. Something didn’t feel right.

Logan went over towards the empty doorway. “These are the buttons for the lights and door,” he continued. He brought up a hand and pressed the button for the lights, a flickering buzz coming from the corner of the hallway. His hand moved to the door button, and Mike jumped a mile when a panel suddenly slid down and slammed onto the ground with no warning.

Mike felt strangely sick when he saw that the door was metal with caution-style stripes on the upper and lower ends.

Logan’s warm eyes had taken on a somber shine. “Use these when you really have to, okay?” he asked.

His tone was…empty. Mike just nodded.

The door slid back up. Logan stared at the empty doorway for a moment, seemingly pondering something. Mike felt the urge to run until the blond said, “Get some rest. You’ll be better off getting here a little early.”

Mike swallowed. His throat felt dry. “Okay,” he said, his voice meek. “Bye.”

Logan said nothing. Mike swiftly skittered out of the room and down the hall, the warmth of that the cupcake had given him now cold and queasy in his chest.

The light of the main room and familiar tones did nothing to calm Mike down. In fact, he felt almost faint. He looked at the stage. The animatronics had stopped singing, their performance for the moment over. The children had occupied themselves with other things, parents and friends continuing to chat over their pizza.

Freddy was staring at him. The spark of life in his eyes was gone, replaced with a cold, empty shine of something sinister.

Mike didn’t know he had left until he was opening the door to his apartment. The cupcake was put in the fridge. He put his uniform on the couch. Everything was so horribly quiet, Miss Lady’s apartment silent of the usual yelling and the neighbors out for the day. Mike could hear his heart beating and his head pounding like a dull hammer against a nail. His skin burned and froze with the need to scratch and tear at it, his insides collapsing in on themselves.

His panic attack left him clawing at his sheets and screaming into his pillow.

In his office, Logan was cradling his head in his hands, his shoulders trembling with quiet sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come.


	2. Night 1: Time Brought Hatred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike comes in for his first night, and learns a horrific truth from the mysterious man on the phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is very dialogue heavy, but things start getting wild. Enjoy!

Mike stared at the building. His heart was racing, his nerves burning with fear as he trembled. His body didn’t feel safe anymore at the sight of the building, nor did his mind. There was something that absolutely terrified him now, something that bore into his head and stayed there like Freddy’s gaze. The safety he had once felt as a child was now gone, washed away from the years of living in fear and a terrible reality.

He had passed out after his panic attack, much like he usually did. He had woken up to the sun going down, the sounds of the apartment building thankfully returning. Miss Lady was arguing with her usual dealer again. The man who lived next door was watching TV too loud like he usually did. Awful sounds, but Mike liked them better than the silence.

He couldn’t find the will to go back to sleep, so he simply sat on the couch and waited until the fidgety clock was close to eleven. He left twenty after, uniform snuggly fitting his body and keys in hand. Miss Lady had one of her boyfriend’s over again. Mike had gone back inside his apartment to write a note for her in case she came over to check for mice and left it on his door.

There wasn’t a bus stop near the pizzeria, but Mike didn’t mind walking. The occasional car passed by him, people getting home late from work or sneaking around. Mike knew all these people; he had lived with their carbon copies for years. He must have looked like one of them, or maybe he looked like a man working the graveyard shift in the cemetery.

Now the pizzeria loomed above him, and Mike felt too scared to unlock the door.

Something was wrong with this place. Mike had mastered the ability at sensing dread days before it happened, but it had poured on to his body all at once. He had felt safe when he came here earlier, safe from the thoughts of being taken back and the nightmares that followed him everywhere, but now the pizzeria had become just like the rest of the world; cold and empty. The joy Mike had once felt had been taken from him in the blink of an eye by Freddy’s gaze.

His trembling wrist twisted the key and unlocked the one door. It arched smoothly, and Mike could smell the oil on its hinges. The carpet scratched at Mike’s sneakers when he turned to lock the door, the sound too loud in the silence.

With the people gone, the place looked abandoned. The display case of sweets and toys was dark, the register sitting a lonely existence on the counter. The main room wasn’t any better. The tables and booths had been cleaned and reorganized, set for the ghosts at night and living in the morning. The air was cold, the heating off, and the darkness was so suffocating that Mike nearly dropped onto the tiles right there to start screaming.

The trio was silent now. The three sets of eyes, roses, ice chips, and lilacs were staring at the wall opposite of them. They seemed frozen by the air, waiting for the heating to return to thaw their wires and joints so they could move again. They looked…lifeless, like any other restaurant animatronics. For a second, Mike almost believed that they were just that; lifeless robots that appeal to a child’s imagination. He caught himself, stopping the thought, because he knew the truth.

He moved slowly, but he didn’t really know why. Maybe it was because he was hoping they’d come to life like they usually did, that they’d come offstage and over to him. Mike paused in front of the hallway, looking at the stage. Looking for movement.

No one had moved an inch, but Freddy’s eyes still held that cold light. All of theirs did.

Mike looked at Pirate Cove. He didn’t hear anything from behind the curtains.

Did he want to see Foxy? Mike told himself that he did, but… The deep-rooted fear, the fear of the flash of pearly white teeth and seeing down the giant fox’s throat, stuck to him like hot glue. The memories were fragmented, but Mike could remember bits and pieces; like when he was dangling above the ground with his head in those sharp teeth, or lying in a pool of his own blood with Foxy looming over him. He remembered the white hot agony and being unable to make a sound.

The thing that Mike feared most, however, was the thought that it wasn’t an accident like he had convinced himself it was.

He moved down the hallway with one last look at Pirate Cove. Maybe it would be better if Foxy came to him. Mike didn’t think he had the mental strength to be near the fox.

The office was lit. The light bulb above him was silent as it gave off a bright light. Mike felt relieved; he could feel the shadows in the corners and in his head slithering away. He stepped inside and took another gander at the room. The floor looked too polished, for some reason that was the one thing that bothered Mike about it now, but maybe that was just him and the lighting.

He sat in the chair. Some air escaped the cushion, but it was comfortable and soft. Mike moved around a little, a small smile sneaking onto his face while he subtly rolled back and forth. Mike started moving in small bursts around the room, the wheels carting him along the shiny tiles. His legs raised and lowered, curled and bent. The teen started giggling.

Mike was caught off-guard when the phone suddenly rang. He nearly somersaulted out of his chair and almost tipped it. The ringing reminded him of a business phone. He looked for it and found it nestled by some crumbled papers. Logan didn’t say anything about a phone call. He pushed the chair towards the phone, the wheels murmuring quietly across the tiles. Air fumbled his hair, and Mike finally noticed the fan. It looked like someone had cleaned it. It was probably being cleaned when Logan showed him the office earlier.

He didn’t pick the phone up in time. The voicemail suddenly blurted, _“Hello? Hello?”_

The teen’s mind momentarily blanked. “Um...”

_“Uh, I wanted to record a message for you to help you get settled in on your first night.”_

Mike blinked. Logan hadn’t said anything about a phone call.

_“So, I actually worked in that office before you. I’m finishing up my last week now, as a matter of fact.” ___

____

The boy felt his head tilt almost comically. Logan hadn’t mentioned any previous workers, but then again there wasn’t really a need to. Mike just wondered how long that ad had been in the paper.

____

_“So… I know it can be a little overwhelming, but I’m here to tell you there’s nothing to worry about. Uh, you’ll do fine! So, let’s just focus on getting you through your first week, okay?”_

____

Mike smiled a little. Despite not even knowing him, this random guy was encouraging him. He gave a small nod despite that it was just a recording.

____

_“Uh, let’s see. First there’s an introductory greeting from the company I’m supposed to read. Uh, it’s kind of a legal thing, you know?” the man said in a bored voice._

____

The teen gave a small frown. Legal thing? He hadn’t signed a contract or anything. What could be legal about this?

____

_“Uh, “Welcome to Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza; a magical place where kids and grownups alike, where fantasy and fun come to life. Fazbear Entertainment is not responsible for damage to property or person. Upon the discovery of the damage or death has occurred, a missing person’s report will be filed within ninety days or as soon as property and premise have been thoroughly cleaned and bleached, and the carpets have been replaced.’”_

____

Throughout that entire paragraph, Mike had paled significantly and the little droplet of safety he felt dried up. He stared at the phone in horror, his mouth gaping and stomach twisting.

____

_“Blah, blah, blah.”_

____

Was this guy serious? He wasn’t actually serious, right? It had to be a prank that the employees played on the newbies. There was absolutely no way that this was true. Mike grabbed at his shirt, tugging to air himself. It was just a prank.

____

_“Now that sound bad, I know, but there’s really nothing to worry about!”_

____

Mike felt a flash of anger and glared at the phone. What an awful prank.

____

_“Uh, the animatronic characters here do get a bit quirky at night, but do I blame them? No! If I were forced to sing those same stupid songs for twenty years and I never got a bath? I’d probably be a bit irritable at night, too.”_

____

Mike looked at the door. He knew what it was like to have a life in repeat, and he hated it. He could only imagine the cycle they went through: sing, break, sing, break. With no one cleaning them, too!

____

But why wouldn’t Logan have them cleaned if they were so dirty?

____

_“So remember, these characters hold a special place in the hearts of children, and you need to show them a little respect, right? Okay.”_

____

There was more than respect between them, Mike thought fondly, trying to calm himself down. The guy had just been trying to scare him with that introduction.

____

_“So just be aware, the characters do tend to wander a bit. Uh, they’re left with some kind of ‘free-roaming mode’ at night. Uh, something about their servos locking up if they get turned off for too long.”_

____

Mike felt a strange, smug feeling deep down. He knew the truth of the animatronics. He had known since he was a toddler. He couldn’t remember the day Foxy had took him aside into the Cove and whispered that secret into his ear, but Mike remembered the words perfectly.

____

_“This is a secret between us, Mikey? Alright?”_

____

_“Yes, captain!”_

____

_“Uh, they used to be allowed to walk around during the day, too, but then there was the Bite of ’87.”_

____

His skin heated and his blood boiled. Mike gritted his teeth and stiffened, struggling to breathe through his nose. His head, which had still be throbbing from before, took up full residence again inside his skull. The memories were fractured and dark, but Mike remembered the pain, the horrible pain, the screams, and the blood _there was so much blood._

____

_“Yeah… I-it’s amazing that the human body can live without the frontal lobe, you know?”_ The question sounded more directed to the man himself than the listener. 

____

Mike bit his lip and he forced the headache and tightness back. He tried to ignore what the man just said but he couldn’t. The number was a small echo in his mind he tried to silence. _It was my fault, it was my fault, it was all my stupid fault-!_

____

_“Now concerning your safety, the only real risk to you as the night watchmen here, if any, is the fact that these characters…uh, if they happen to see you after hours probably won’t recognize you as a person. They’ll p-most likely see you as a naked endoskeleton without its costume on.”_

____

_…What?_ Mike looked at the phone, wincing as he rubbed his temples. This joke again? Hadn’t they thought that the prank would be figured out by now?

____

_“Now since that’s against the rules at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza, they’ll probably try to…forcefully stuff you inside a Freddy Fazbear suit.”_

____

It’s just a joke. Mike glanced at the doors frantically. His head was pounding. It’s just a joke.

____

_“Um… Now that wouldn’t be so bad if the suits themselves weren’t filled with crossbeams, wires, and animatronic devices. Especially around the facial area. So you can imagine how having your head forcefully pressed inside one of those could cause a bit of discomfort…and death.”_

____

Mike felt dizzy. He was on the verge of hyperventilating, his breath steadily coming in shorter bursts. He kept telling himself that it was a joke, that this was a sick prank, but the dread from earlier was clawing at his insides like a rabid cat. There wasn’t any joking tone in the man’s voice, just seriousness. The look in Freddy’s eyes from earlier today came back to him, the way Logan had gone quiet in the office rang in his ears, and Mike began to fear the worst.

____

_“Uh, the only parts of you that would likely see the light of day again would be your eyeballs and teeth when they pop out the front of the mask, heh…”_

____

Did he just chuckle?

____

_“Yeah they don’t tell you these things when you sign up. But hey! First day should be a breeze, I’ll chat with you tomorrow. Uh, check those cameras, and remember to close the doors only if absolutely necessary. Gotta conserve power. Alright, goodnight.”_

____

The message finished with a click.

____

The clock on the desk turned to twelve. Mike felt like he was going to vomit.

____

\- - - - -

____

They waited.

____

They waited for someone to come in. It was a dare now, to walk through the doors for the night shift. The day shift employees could escape them if they got close, but the nighttime was all theirs. It had become a mutual agreement between them and the manger, one never discussed but understood clear enough for it to happen. It had been nearly two weeks, so they were wondering if anybody had applied for the job. It would be greatly unfortunate if the manager removed the position.

____

They felt a grim form of delight when they heard the quiet footsteps.

____

They forced their eyes to stay forward when the footsteps stopped. They that familiar blue uniform. Freddy had gotten a good look at their newest prey earlier, but now without the children swarming the floor, he could see the guard clearly. A male, a small one to be more specific. Terribly, terribly small. That just made it easier for them; the small ones were the easiest to stuff. Shaggy black hair that would catch on the wires, blue eyes that held such an emptiness that would make corpses jealous.

____

The eyes…

____

They felt anger at those blue eyes. Those eyes mocked the child’s memory with their sadness. Those eyes would be torn out and crushed. He wouldn’t be allowed to last half the week just for his eyes. It was only the first night, so unfortunately, because of their own rules, the guard would be allowed to settle in. Maybe this one could actually make it without losing power on the first night like most of the others.

____

The clock turned to twelve, and Bonnie set down his guitar before hopping off the stage.

____

\- - - - -

____

Mike jolted violently at the loud thud. He snatched the tablet off the desk and flicked it on. The camera that came on was the one onstage where the trio was, and his heart dropped through the floor when he saw that Bonnie was gone. The others were looking away, unbothered by Bonnie’s disappearance.

____

The noise had to have come from the main room then. Mike blanked for a moment at the tablet, his mind putting the pieces together, before he pressed the button for the camera just off the stage.

____

Bonnie was standing between two of the party tables. In the dark, he looked incredibly creepy, jaw hung just so and eyes staring at the wall. His hands were empty, his guitar most likely being left onstage.

____

Mike swiftly flicked the monitor off when he saw the percentage in the corner drop. _“Gotta conserve power,”_ the caller had said.

____

This couldn’t be happening. It had been over eight years, yes, but what could have possibly changed for the animatronics to become…monsters?

____

And Logan… Logan knew. Mike felt a flare of rage and gritted his teeth. Logan knew what the animatronics were doing; if the guy on the phone was actually true. If the animatronics were actually killing people, because Mike knew for a fact that it wasn’t some weird programming glitch, then Logan was letting them. People had taken this job completely unaware, and Logan hadn’t done anything.

____

His heart stung with betrayal. Logan had seemed so nice, and Mike had fallen for it. He had allowed himself to sink into the past he had missed, and he had let his guard down in the process. Logan had slipped right past his defenses with his smile, his kindness, and his generosity; a wolf in sheep’s clothing, just like everyone else Mike had met. It shouldn’t be surprising anymore that there were people like Logan who sneaked around him, but this time it really hurt.

____

The dull blues were wet. _I’m such an idiot._

____

The teen nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a door shut. It was right down the hallway, left side. A quick peek at the monitor showed Mike that there was an extra room, probably a closet. He could hear footsteps, so quiet that for a moment Mike thought there was a rat, coming towards the office.

____

When they were just outside, Mike stood on shaky legs and shuffled over to the door. The hallway was so dark that he couldn’t see an inch in front of him, but he knew Bonnie was there. His hand became possessed by curiosity, and a pale, bite-scarred hand reached and pressed the button for the lights.

____

Bonnie had been a giant to Mike when he was little, but he still seemed massive. He was probably near seven feet tall, maybe bigger. The smell of oil and old pizza were overwhelming, but Mike was frozen. The purple fur was matted in some places, hand prints the size of an adult’s in random places. Bonnie was looking down at him, those rosy eyes calculating and cold.

____

Mike opened his mouth. He wasn’t going to scream, he just wanted to tell Bonnie who he was. Do you remember me? You told me your secret. But nothing came out; his mouth was just open and empty of words.

____

The rosy eyes flickered. They began turning a dark grey, the red irises becoming milky. Bonnie scowled deeply and reached for Mike.

____

A pale finger had slipped to the door button. It came down with a loud whoosh. Bonnie’s hand hit the metal with a dull thud. Mike was frozen to the floor, staring almost blankly at the door. He didn’t move, didn’t think, until he heard Bonnie walking away in obvious defeat.

____

Mike didn’t know why Bonnie’s eyes had done that, he couldn’t think of any logical reason, but the look on the rabbit’s face was enough for him to know that what the man on the phone had said was true. If Mike hadn’t shut the door, he would be in an unforgiving grip and on his way to the backroom, to a suit that wouldn’t fit him no matter how small he was.

____

He opened the door and went back to his chair. He felt eerily calm, but that would wear off before he got home.

____

\- - - - -

____

Mike was broken out of the trance he had been stuck in by the loud chime. His eyes darted to the clock on the desk. It was six.

____

He sat there for a moment, the tablet still held in his hands. He had made it with six percent left. Mike noticed that the power meter wasn’t dropping anymore; the generator must have kicked in. How hilarious for the thing to work after the threat of dying in a blackout was gone.

____

The teen stood and set the tablet on the desk. He peeked around the outside of the right hall, checking just in case, and felt relieved when he saw no one. Mike slipped into the hallway with a strange grace, ignoring the rooted fear of the dark and the need to look behind him.

____

Bonnie had been the most active. He frequently visited the office with that same scowl, and Mike always shut him out. Chica had gotten offstage, but she hadn’t come near the office. They were taunting him, Mike knew, showing him a small taste of what they could do. Freddy remained onstage the while night, but Mike had caught him looking at the camera the one time he had used it.

____

Foxy was the only one who hadn’t come out. Mike didn’t know whether to be hopeful or scared.

____

He avoided their eyes when he walked out. He felt them burning through his clothes and skin, the anger and coldness something Mike was far too familiar with. He knew he felt a fourth set on his back, but Mike was unlocking the door and leaving before he could tell himself to turn around.

____

The key clicked, the lock putting what little defense Mike had against the animatronics up.

____

The teen turned and started walking away a strangely slow pace. He felt drained and empty, his emotions kept from spilling behind a flimsy bandage. His eyes stung and his skin itched. He thought he would be safe here, that he’d be able to salvage what little childhood and innocence he had left, but, like Mike had learned a long time ago, nothing stays the same.

____

But why kill? Mike struggled to think of what could possibly make such once lovable and caring animatronics resort to murder, but he found nothing. The faint memories of his old friends disappearing came up, the flickering images of the five of them scattering around in the dark, but… He couldn’t remember what had happened, but there was no way a disappearance would cause the animatronics to kill people.

____

Nothing made sense. Mike’s brain was in shambles, and the cold did little to ground him to the physical world. He was so caught up in his head thinking that the truck barreling down the street didn’t register until it swerved into the parking lot. The headlights brought his attention to it, and by then it was racing towards him.

____

Mike may have let out a loud, girly scream. He also may have flailed a little with no idea what to do. It was good choice for the driver to stop it just feet away, shrieking loudly, or else Mike would have had to prove to the world, not for the first time, that he could run and climb like a champ.

____

It was dark blue with small flecks of rust. A boot kicked the door open. A man stepped out of the truck, the light of the truck letting Mike get a good look at the stranger. His hair was a pale coffee brown, his eyes a deep, burning hazel that made Mike cower. A scruff decorated his scowl-warped cheeks. He looked like he had just woken up, his jeans and shirt wrinkled.

____

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come.
> 
> I was actually going to write more, but I felt like I was dragging on, so I cut it short. Chapter 3 is in the works and will be up very soon!
> 
> Also, italics are going to be the death of me :D


	3. Just a Goddamn Kid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike meets the janitor of the year. Chris thinks he's a druggie. Mike's just happy he got some answers. And food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super sorry that I made it sound like this chapter was coming out the day after the second! School and my college class got in the way and reminded me that reality's a thing, but I prevailed! Enjoy!

Chris didn’t consider Logan a friend, but he did consider him a decent guy. Even though Logan was hiring people to basically be bait for a bunch of killer robots, Logan was a good guy. The guy didn’t like doing it, Chris reminded himself every time a guard got stuffed when Logan would be a mess of guilty tears and sobs. Chris wasn’t good at consoling people, especially over killer animatronics murdering staff; he wondered how the hell Logan’s wife could do it.

When he was told what he’d actually signed up for after skimming through a contract and signing it, Chris thought Logan was a lunatic who got a kick out of seeing people die, but then he’d seen the guilt and shame in the man’s eyes, the pure loathing for what he was getting them into. Chris had learned why the position couldn’t just be terminated after he got past the initial “fucking crazy boss” stigma, and now it was just a usual bother to clean up the mess.

So when Logan called him, Chris knew what it was about before he answered the phone. The two week break from cleaning up mangled bodies was over; Chris just wanted to know how big the poor sap was so he could gauge how much bleach he needed and how long he’d have to keep the doors locked. So he had picked up his phone while eating a halfhearted sandwich on his couch and got straight to the point.

“How much bleach am I going to need?” he had asked nonchalantly. After hearing Logan choke, Chris went on with, “Logan, I know the drill. I just need to know how bad the mess is going to be.”

“…Not much,” Logan had responded, his voice quiet and tired. “He’s… Chris, I… I just…”

“Jesus, what’s the matter with you?” Chris had said, concern edging into his annoyed tone.

“He’s just a boy, Chris. He’s… He’s only seventeen.”

Rage had flooded Chris’s body like liquid fire. “Why the fuck did you hire him?!” He didn’t like kids, teenagers especially, but he had never cleaned up guts as young as that and he was _not_ okay with it.

“I didn’t have a choice, Chris!” Logan had exclaimed desperately. “I couldn’t just turn him down for his age, and there aren’t any other applications.”

“Then you should have lied!”

“I know that!”

Chris learned to stop getting attached to newbies. He stopped joking and hanging out with them over coffee. He started to give short, barking sentences instead of hopeful encouragement that they’d make it to morning. Chris just stopped trying to help them anymore in general. They all either died or left, usually against their tattered will, so what was the point? The last guy had lasted pretty long, but everyone’s luck ran out eventually. It was only a matter of time for each guard.

But a kid… Chris wasn’t prepared for that. The youngest guard they had had was twenty-one, and Chris had felt sicker than he usually did when he eased off the mask to find that young face horrifically mangled. Seventeen was too young; any age was too young for that position.

Logan had spoken after their moment of silence. “H-he’s small,” he’d sniffled. “Maybe… Maybe he’ll survive long enough for you to–.”

“Logan,” Chris had interrupted quickly. “You know he won’t.”

Waking up thirty minutes before six was a pain in the ass. He didn’t sleep that much, at least without the aid of alcohol, but getting up and ready to go clean up a dead body was something he certainly didn’t miss. He woke himself up with some black coffee before getting in the truck to drive over. Hopefully his neighbors wouldn’t get suspicious, but they weren’t the smartest people in town.

When he got close to the pizzeria, he stepped on the gas. He just wanted to get this over with. There was no way that a kid could survive even the first night, because it’s a kid; he probably thought it’d be funny to vandalize the animatronics or something. Chris wouldn’t have minded, but since they were psychotic robots with no souls that murdered people, he did mind.

So when he whipped into the parking lot and saw the kid in his headlights, he could hardly think straight when he saw that the kid was very much alive and walking. If he hadn’t been so surprised, he would have laughed at the kid’s girly scream.

Despite the early hour, Chris and his brain were up to speed with each other when he said, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

The kid looked like a druggie. His uniform was a little too loose on him, a black, ragged jacket over his uniform. His hair was out of control, looking more like a burnt bush than hair. The headlights showed off his pale skin; he looked like a goddamn ghost. His eyes reminded Chris of a doe’s, not a buck, wide and scared all to hell.

“You’re the new night guard?” Chris stormed over to the kid. “How the hell did you even last?”

The kid swallowed and cowered. “I… I don’t know,” he said. His voice was light and shaky. He sounded like a toddler dodging a cigarette.

Christ, this kid wouldn’t last half the week.

Mike had no idea what to do. This guy had just rolled up and started yelling at him. He pulled at his sleeves, a few fingers slipping beneath the fabric to scratch at his scabs. There goes breaking that habit.

“What’s your name, kid?” the stranger barked.

Mike’s eyes darted to the ground. “It’s Mike, sir,” he answered quietly. This man was too much like Sir. His tone and posture demanded instant respect, and Mike was practiced in giving it.

The hazel eyes widened a smidgen before the man busted up laughing. “I’m the fucking janitor, and you’re calling me sir?” He smirked despite Mike’s confused frown. “It’s Chris; don’t ever call me sir again, it’s fucking weird.”

Mike just nodded and gave a quick glance up through his hair before it went back to the ground.

Chris looked down at the smaller with a disbelieving look. He would be honest, he was pretty surprised that this kid wasn’t screaming or crying. Sometimes, the past guards would come out a hysterical mess and cling to him while stuttering out what they’d seen, and that would only be after night one. Even though it was going to happen in the future, Chris felt relieved that he wouldn’t be cleaning a kid’s insides off the floor tonight.

The silence was broken with Mike’s meek voice. “Can I leave now?” he asked.

A brow took a curious route upwards on Chris’s face. “Did you really just ask for permission to leave a parking lot?”

The teen ducked his head again. Chris just barely fought back a sigh. Mike was like a wet kitten with all the shivering and quietness. There was no way this kid was going to last until at least Wednesday. The inevitable fate Mike was facing was exactly why Chris didn’t get attached to the guards anymore.

Logan, however, had demanded that Chris at least try to be nice.

_“You know what’s going to happen to him, Logan. Why do you think I don’t react to this anymore?”_

_“He’s just a boy, Chris, and a very shy one. Just try to be nice for once, okay? I know you’re not the most emotional person, but it isn’t that hard to be nice.”_

_“It is to me.”_

_“Damn it, Chris, just be nice to him!”_

Even though the kid obviously wasn’t a tattletale, Chris knew that if Logan bought the lie that he was nice, Petunia, Logan’s wife, would call bullshit the moment he opened his mouth to say anything.

Chris sighed. Be nice. “Do you want a ride home?” he asked. Mike looked up at him with wide eyes. Chris definitely did not want to drive the kid home, but he had no idea what else he could do to be nice. “It’s cold and Logan would kill me if you got sick,” he excused, masking his displeasure.

At the mention of Logan, Mike’s face became drawn. “He’s pretty creative at it from the looks of it,” he mumbled.

Okay, even though Chris had the same thought process when he first came here, this kid didn’t know the tip of the iceberg. “Logan’s the farthest thing from a killer,” Chris snapped, eyes blazing. Mike instantly cowered again. “I can tell you the truth, but only if you’re not an annoying little brat.” And there went being nice.

There was fire in those sad eyes, Chris could see. Mike’s face was pinched in simmering anger. Chris knew he himself would want to throw that back in someone’s face no matter who they were. For a minute, it looked like Mike was going to say something, his mouth open just so.

Then just as quickly as the fire appeared, it went away. Exhaustion painted the pale face. Mike just shrugged. “Sure.”

Chris almost wanted to say something. He almost wanted to ask who had beat him so hard into taking the highroad in shutting up, who was whipping him to be respectful no matter what, but he had already fucked things up enough. So Chris just grunted and said, “Fine. Get in.”

Some people were up. The sun was just barely peeking out from behind the dark clouds, some stars still twinkling weakly despite the Earth’s spin in the other direction. Cars were gliding down the streets for work, people were on the steps of their squished homes kissing their sleepy loved ones goodbye. A school bus drifted past the truck.

 _Speaking of school..._ “You a dropout or something?” Chris asked out of nowhere.

Mike startled. He glanced over at Chris, seeing the man’s bored eyes on the road. He swallowed. “Why would you think that?” he responded meekly. If Logan found out he wasn’t in school…

“You’re not freaking out about getting there on time. It’s like twenty minutes from here; you’d be getting there pretty fucking late.” Chris stole a glance. “Logan thinks you’re in school.” It was more of a statement than a question.

The teen bit his lip. “Please don’t tell him,” he whispered.

Chris shrugged. “Like I care if you’re in school or not.” They turned a corner. “What do you want for breakfast?”

Mike gave a small, confused frown. “Breakfast?” he echoed.

“Logan wants me to pick you up breakfast,” Chris clarified with an annoyed huff. “You look like you need food anyway, so what do you want?”

Mike felt his throat tighten. He had never been faced with this situation before. He had no idea what there was or where he wanted to go. His voice had left him again, hiding away in his throat. Normal people did this kind of stuff all the time, people who could leave the house and come back without feeling scared.

“Ugh, you’re one of those people.” Chris’s voice snapped Mike back into focus. His eyes darted to the man’s face to see it tinted with annoyance. “Look, there’s like five places in this town. Just pick one.”

“Um…” Mike shifted in his seat, eyes on his hands. He was scratching at an old bite mark. “I’ve never been to any of them.”

Chris jerked his head over, his face twisted in an incredulous expression. “Bullshit,” he said promptly. “You’re a teenager, you practically live off these things.”

“I don’t like crowds,” Mike murmured. His bitten nails were raking red lines across his left hand.

Chris looked at Mike’s hands. “Jesus, kid, what did you do to your hands?”

The teen managed to grab at his sleeves instead. “Nothing.”

“What, is it like a nervous habit or something?” The janitor’s eyes went back to the road as he pulled into a fast food parking lot. “I thought the drugs took care of that.”

Mike jerked his head up, eyes wide. “What?” he squeaked. “What are you talking about?”

The hazels rolled. “Yeah, yeah, I know the drill. You say you don’t do them and I act like I believe you.” He pulled into the drive-thru. “I did some weed when I was in school, relax.”

The pale cheeks became hot. “I-I don’t do drugs,” Mike argued weakly. “My neighbor–.”

“Sure,” Chris cut in. “Okay, what do you want? It’s breakfast stuff only, so no nuggets or anything like that.”

Mike gave him a weak glare before looking over him at the menu. His heart skipped a beat. That… That was a lot of options. Chris was talking to the lady managing the speaker, but Mike was more focused on what he could possibly even get. Was he paying? He didn’t mind, but he just wanted to find the cheapest thing on the list. It was hard to be picky when you live on air and rainwater.

“Mike!” Chris barked. The teen jumped. “It’s not that hard to pick something. Seriously, it’s all the same: eggs, sausage, pancakes–.”

“Pancakes!” Mike blurted, his body perked. Chris leaned back slightly at the outburst. The teen was grinning widely and his body was taut with excitement. It was a big one-eighty from what Chris had seen so far. “They have pancakes?!”

Chris looked at him for a long beat. “…Yeah,” he said after a second. “That’s kind of the point.”

After paying for the meal and parking the truck, Chris practically tossed Mike’s food into his lap. The teen peeked into the bag, his mouth beginning to water at the sight of the pancakes. They were in a little plastic container, the top coated in steam. He reached in hesitantly and pulled them out. He had forgotten just how hungry he was, the hunger being a constant in his life. His stomach growled.

“You gonna eat it or what?” Chris commented as he bit into his breakfast sandwich.

Mike could barely believe that he was getting something fresh, especially pancakes. He popped the container opened and tore open the wrapping on the plastic fork and knife. He cut into the first of three swiftly and took a bite. His legs gave a tiny kick of joy.

Chris looked at him. “You’ve seriously never eaten here before?” he asked, honestly curious.

The teen gave an absent nod, too engrossed in eating. They were warm and fluffy, not like the ones from the flimsy bags. Mike couldn’t remember eating something so good; even the food at the shelter hadn’t been as good as this.

Chris took another bite of his sandwich. Weird fucking kid. It was odd enough for the kid to be as awkward as this, but it was really damn weird for someone Mike’s age to have never been to a fast food place. The kid wasn’t bullshitting, that was obvious enough, but…

_What’s with this kid?_

Chris crumpled up the wrapper and tossed it in a bag. “You wanted to know about Logan.”

Mike looked up from his food. He had barreled through two entire pancakes with half the third one gone. He gave a hesitant nod.

Chris gave him a look. “Okay, first, slow down. If you choke and die, I get in trouble for being the one that bought you that shit. I’d rather not explain to the paramedics how you choked to death on pancakes. Second, no vomit or blood in here. Future references and rules; you stick with them or never get in here again. Got it?”

A small nod. “Mm-hmm,” got out past Mike’s mouthful.

The janitor leaned back in his seat. “I thought he was a psycho when he hired me, too,” Chris admitted. “But it was kind of hard to keep thinking that when you see him crying every other day over a dead guard.”

The raven-head sat up, swallowing his food. “He didn’t tell me anything,” Mike said quietly.

“Yeah, because that’s something you bring up at a job interview,” Chris retorted with a snap. “Sure. 'By the way, the animatronics will stuff you into a bear suit if you fuck up, so just be extra, super careful.' I'd totally take that job.”

Mike ducked his head. That was true. He couldn’t imagine his reaction if Logan had said something like that. Definitely not something that would come up.

Chris rolled down his window. Mike looked back over to see a cigarette in a tan, calloused hand. It was lit with a silver lighter before the cap snapped shut, Chris taking a drag. The teen sniffed a little. Chris must have heard, because the window rolled down halfway a second later.

“I clean up what’s left,” Chris said after a moment. His voice was quiet, but Mike knew it was because they were in a parking lot and not because he cared. “I come in, clean up and remove what parts I can, and then the extra cleanup crew takes the body.”

“What do they do with it?” Mike asked, his voice a hush. What did he even mean by that? The body or the suit?

The man shrugged. “Toss it, burn it; beats me.” He took another short drag. “I clean out the suit until it’s too fucked to keep using. They last a long fucking time, that’s for sure.”

The teen looked down at his pancakes. Strangely, he still felt hungry despite what he was hearing, and he picked at the fluffy circle until he ripped off a piece. “Why do they do it?” Mike whispered.

Chris snorted. “Hell if I know. Does it matter? It’s not like Logan can do anything to make them back off. He can’t get rid of them because he’s scared the people that’ll have to do it will get their spines inverted. Night shift’s only there so that they don’t break out or anything. Better one than a town block.”

 _Better one than a town block._ The raven-head bit his lip. “So…?”

“You’re bait,” Chris deadpanned. “You keep them occupied while Logan tries and fails to think of a good plan to make them stop.”

Mike swallowed. He felt queasy, and not because he had just eaten more than he usually did. A question tapped at the front of his skull, and he asked, “What about the last guard?”

The janitor shrugged. “What about him? You mean how long did he last?” He examined his cigarette. “A year, I think. He was pretty damn good at keeping himself alive.”

“And then…?” Mike already knew.

“And then he fucked up, got stuffed, and my year-long record of not cleaning up bodies ended.” Chris took another drag, longer this time.

Mike scratched his wrist. “How long ago was it?”

“Two weeks.” Chris huffed. “Two weeks of me not cleaning up blood and guts.” He looked at Mike. “Right, forgot you still had food.”

“I’m full,” Mike managed to say, his throat pinched.

Two weeks. Those messages had been there for two weeks. No one had checked the phone at all. Why would they, because there wasn’t a reason to. The guy on the phone had been going against the company policy to save the next person in line for the slaughter.

“What about the company?” Mike blurted quietly.

“The company?” Chris laughed. “Like they care. They pay our bills if we can’t, they send us coupons every month, and we get a free mental evaluation every three months. They keep us quiet and the families in the dark.”

“But…” Mike started to say.

Chris gave him a bored look. “Look, kid, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows. There’s a reason no one sane likes going there and there’s a reason why so many people hate us. Even though there’s no solid proof, we’ve got dozens of missing people and dozens of former guards in asylums because no one believes them. No one wants to go to jail, and now since you’re with this shitfest and you didn’t sign a contract, you’ll be charged with something, too. So just keep your mouth shut and we’ll be fine.”

A beat of silence. Then, “I’ll try not to die quickly.”

Something clenched in Chris’s chest. He ignored it and huffed. “Thanks.”

\- - - - -

They pulled up alongside the curb to the apartment building. Chris instantly made a face of disgust, Mike missing it as he tucked the pancake container back into the bag. The place was falling apart, the bricks coated in grime and moss. A window was broken, the replacement a few boards. Chris could smell a number of drugs even from here.

“Thank you,” Mike said, opening the door.

“Sure.” Chris remembered after a beat to say, “Logan said to call whenever.”

Mike looked at Chris with a frown. “Um…”

The janitor gave him a bored look. “He forgot to give you the number, didn’t he?”

“Uh, no. Well, I mean…” The pale cheeks were tinted pink with embarrassment. “I just… I don’t have a phone.”

“You don’t have a phone?”

“No.”

 _Fucking hell._ The man sighed. “Then just go to the pizzeria tomorrow. He’s probably still crying his eyes out at home.”

Mike gave a small nod. “Okay.” He slipped out of the passenger seat. “Bye.”

The moment the door was shut, Chris drove away. He told himself that he didn’t feel bad, that it was just another guard, but when Chris peeked back in the mirror to see the kid going into that building, remembering how happy he’d been when he got the pancakes, it was almost painful when he looked away.

_Fuck._

\- - - - -

Mike wasn't normal. His life wasn't normal, and now his job wasn't either. _He_ wasn't normal. Normal people didn't cut themselves, didn't slice their skin like butter and bleed everywhere. Normal people didn't want to die at every waking moment. Normal people didn't sharpen rocks whenever their razors were broken or dull. Normal people didn't have to run away from monsters.

 _But..._ His fingers brushed against the knife's handle. The knife was hard to ignore, but Mike had felt normal for once when eating in the parking lot, and he wanted to keep that feeling for as long as he could.

So he drew his hand away from the knife he had bought a week ago, finished his food, and hugged his pillow to his chest, whimpering as he ignored the urge to throw up and to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come.
> 
> I really feel like I'm not writing as much as I think I am with how wide the paragraphs are stretched. I do put the font size when I write to 14 because 12 makes my eyes strain, but I still really feel like I'm not making these chapters big enough.
> 
> I'm going to try and make it a goal to get at least two chapters out weekly, but there's no definite promises. I'll try my best to balance out writing and school.


	4. Night 2: Captains of Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the second night of Mike's job, and he's hoping for one thing: for Foxy to recognize him.
> 
> It would be an open and shut story if that was the case, wouldn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Graphic depictions of self-harm, physical abuse, suicide, and mental illness
> 
> !!!: I have no intention of offending or triggering anyone with my description of Mike's self-harm, depression, etc. I have no intention of making it seem like there are certain reasons for someone to resort to hurting themselves, and I have no intention of making Mike seem like a model character for those who do harm themselves or anyone who believes that this is what people who struggle with self-harm look like. Mike's struggle with himself is inspired with my own struggles of depression, anxiety, and suicidal thoughts that I still fight with today.
> 
> !!!: I do not romanticize self-harm, believe that it is a trend, believe that anyone who does it is weak, or believe that any person in question deserves to die. Self-harm is an extremely serious crisis for the person in question and I strongly advise anyone harming themselves in any way (cutting, starvation, binge eating and purging, etc.) or anyone thinking of harming themselves to find help in a trusted person. I also do not romanticize mental illness or disorders, such as depression, anxiety, PTSD, and many others.
> 
> (Hotlines in end notes! Please correct me if there is an incorrect hotline, as I found these from a single source)

The moment Mike locked his apartment door, the one across the hall was practically kicked open. The teen jumped to high he thought he touched the ceiling.

“Hey, kid!” Miss Lady barked. Mike turned to face her. She looked angry and desperate, her dark, curly hair in disarray and her clothes rumpled from overuse. “Any rats? I’m low on money and you’re the only job that pays upfront.”

Mike shook his head somberly. “No. Sorry.”

Miss Lady huffed. Her skeletal hands slid to her hips when she tilted, her amber eyes looking the teenager from the floor up. “Fancy uniform. Got a job, huh?”

He nodded. “Night shift.”

“Where at? Is it at the graveyard? The groundskeeper just died.”

“Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria.”

Miss Lady’s face instantly switched to disgust. “Ugh, that place? Don’t half the people who work there die or something?”

Mike felt his heart stutter. “What makes you say that?” She didn’t know, did she? How could she know anyway?

“Rumors tend to become solid if they’re around long enough,” she said. She raised a brow. “Are they?”

The teen swallowed nervously. Being reminded freshly of his possible doom wasn’t pleasant. “I hope not.”

“Yeah, me neither. You’re one of the few decent ones in this building. Plus you pay me.” She examined her nails. They were painted orange, the color chipping. “At least you don’t have to deal with kids. That place is crawling all day long, I swear I can hear them hollering from here.”

Mike knew she didn’t like kids. She had told him the moment he moved in not to, in her words, “knock a girl up and bring the thing here.” Mike had assured her that she wouldn’t, and he hadn’t. He had no interest in that kind of stuff, and he especially never had an interest in girls. Mike had been the first exception to her “no kids” rule because he not only paid her, but because he was quiet.

“Believe it or not, I used to go there when I was little,” Miss Lady said. Mike’s face must have shown his surprise, because she said, “Yeah, yeah, I was a kid at one point. I wasn’t this ugly shit from the starting line, pal.”

“No, no, that’s not it!” Mike hurriedly said. “It’s just… I thought you didn’t like places like that.”

“I don’t. I had to be dragged there.” Miss Lady leaned against the doorway. “I liked one of the robots there. Can’t remember which one.” She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter anymore, though. That shit lost its magic when I started getting older.”

“It still has a little for me,” Mike murmured, his eyes down. _I hope it does._

“Yeah, well cherish it while it lasts, pal. Once it’s gone, it’s gone, and then you’ll end up doing something this country call’s illegal just to pay bills.” She huffed. “How much are you getting paid?”

“Hundred-twenty,” he responded.

Her eyes widened a bit. “Damn, for night shift? Anyone could go in and say they did it and get their paycheck. How’s the boss supposed to know?”

“The janitor comes after six,” Mike said. He scratched at his arm. The itch, constantly there, was caressing his nerves. Strangely, he didn’t feel anxious talking to Miss Lady. Not anymore. “He’s taking me home now.”

“Ah. Boss’s orders to make sure you’re there. Got it.” Miss Lady sighed. “I’ll let you get to it. I need my beauty sleep anyways,” she said sarcastically.

Mike wanted to say that she did look nice, because she really did, but he didn’t. She would get mad at him for lying. He just nodded. “Okay. Night.”

“Night.” She turned, then stopped. “Hey, kid?”

Mike looked at her back. Her shirt had a tear in it. “Yes?”

“Don’t cut yourself tonight. You get all weepy every time you do and I’ve got a headache.”

He told himself he winced because she slammed her door shut, not because she said that.

\- - - - -

Mike gave up on trying to relax and resigned himself to sitting ramrod straight in the swivel chair. Any form of peace had already been destroyed when he felt the animatronics staring at his back on his way in. His nerves hummed with the lights as thoughts ran through his head. Would Foxy come out tonight? Was it too early for Foxy to be coming out? Would Foxy recognize him, even though Bonnie hadn’t?

He jumped at the ringing phone when the clock turned to twelve. Another message? Mike debated whether or not to try and answer it, but the ringing stopped much quicker than last time. The familiar click sounded as the voice spoke through the speakers.

_“Uh, hello! Hello? Uh, well if you’re hearing this then you made it to day two! Uh, congrats! I-I won’t talk quite as long this time since Freddy and his friends tend to become more active as the week progresses.”_

Mike felt his heart stutter. He had already known that they would start getting more active, but how bad could it get? Bonnie and Chica had been out the first night, so had that been a mistake or just bad luck?

_“Uh, it might be a good idea to peek at those cameras while I talk; just to make sure everyone’s in their proper place, you know?”_

Mike went ahead and did just that. The main trio hadn’t moved at all. A peek to Pirate Cove sent mixed signals to Mike when he saw he curtains were still untouched.

_“Uh, interestingly enough, Freddy himself doesn’t come off stage very often. I heard he becomes more active in the dark, though, so, hey, I guess that’s one more reason not to run out of power, right?”_

Mike tried to hold in the trembles that fought their way to the surface, but he was steadily failing. Freddy would start moving in the dark? If they didn’t catch him by six, a heart attack surely would.

_“I also want to emphasize the importance of your door lights. Uh, there are blind spots in your camera views, and those blind spots happen to be right outside your doors. So if you can’t find something, or someone, on your cameras, uh, be sure to check the door lights. Uh, you might only have a few seconds to react.”_

What a power move, to be hiding in the two spots that were the hardest to see. It kept people on their toes. At least Mike was always on his.

_“Not that you would be in any danger, of course! Uh, I’m not implying that.”_

It was under that man’s tone, but Mike could hear the guilt from that statement. He knew that the man was trying to calm down whoever was listening to this, even if it was only a little. The guy was probably trying to avoid getting in trouble with the company, but what was worse than this?

_“Also, check on the curtain in Pirate Cove from time to time. The character in there seems unique in that he becomes more active if the cameras remain off for long periods of time. I guess he doesn’t like being watched. I don’t know.”_

Mike had a feeling as to why.

_“Anyway, I’m sure you have everything under control. Uh, talk to you soon!”_

The click signaled that the message was done, leaving Mike in silence. He checked the cameras. Bonnie was the only one out so far. The teen jumped up and checked the door lights, relief stinging him when he saw that Bonnie wasn’t there.

From what Mike was gathering, as long as they weren’t in his blind spots, he was safe. But what was Freddy’s pattern? What was Foxy’s? They wouldn’t follow the same patterns as half their group. They were the wildcards, the ones with tricks up their sleeves, and Mike knew that was the point. They each had a role that they would use to their advantage.

And he had a bad feeling of what Foxy did. Foxy was made for playing tag, after all.

\- - - - -

He hated It. He hated the memories of It. The very thought of It made him want to scream. It reminded him of what he’d done, who he had hurt…

When Bonnie had told him the description of the new night guard, he was so furious that he nearly jumped from the Cove and killed the guy even after it turned six. Humans with blue eyes made him upset, he couldn’t stand them. Black hair just made it worse. They reminded him of what he had done, who he had hurt. It made his teeth tingle and his chest tighten.

 _Don’ think about him._ Thinking about that day, that boy, did nothing but make him miserable. Its ghost already followed him enough. Thinking just made it worse.

He glared at the camera with hatred in his nonexistent heart. He wouldn’t allow this night guard to quit like some of the others. This one wouldn’t get away, not if he had anything to do about it. If he looked that much like him like Bonnie had said, then he would personally take care of this one himself. He would not allow some lookalike to be here; to be alive.

After the camera flicked off, he stepped from the curtains and felt his wires tense as he prepared to sprint. He didn’t care how many runs it took, he was killing this wretched guard. He was definitely going through his motions too fast for just the second night, but he was just so angry and he wanted this bastard human gone.

He sprinted.

\- - - - -

The footsteps were loud and heavy. Mike knew those all too well, the faint memories of playing tag echoing through his skull. He fumbled with the tablet frantically, finally just dropping it on the chair, leaping out of the chair and going for the left door. The blue eyes caught a quick glimpse of the figure before the door slammed shut. Mike flinched violently when mismatched hands started pounding on the door, the metal echoing sharply. He covered his ears, biting his lip. He felt himself slipping back into the past, the sounds of young hands pounding against walls to flush him out mixing in far too well with the sounds of now.

It stopped, but the thing didn’t go away. Mike uncovered his ears, his heart thumping against his chest so painfully he thought it would fall out. He could feel the presence just outside the door. His hand drifted to the light, like it had done when Bonnie was there, and he flicked it on.

Mike hadn’t forgotten that Foxy was the biggest of the four. He was gigantic, much taller than Bonnie, but he looked different. A large tear could be seen on his chest, his metal bones peeking through the fur on his arms. His once fluffy, ruby and scarlet fur was disheveled and torn. His sunny yellow eyes, once joyful and filled with play, were now narrowed with a burning anger that could have melted through the door.

Mike’s mouth opened just like it had last night, his voice once again stuck in his throat. He felt cold, his entire body stopped in time. Despite the angry expression, Mike felt happiness blooming in his chest at the sight of the old pirate. His first friend, once his best friend, was alive. He was still here. He looked like he been through the mill, but it was still Foxy.

_It’s me, it’s me! Foxy, it’s me!_

Foxy let out a low, annoyed snort and turned away. His footsteps thudded against the tiles until the only sound Mike could hear was the humming lights.

The dull blues were wet, tears already beginning to sneak from his tired eyes and onto thin cheeks.

_Don’t you remember me?_

_Don’t you care?_

_Don’t I look the same?_

Mike choked out a small hiccup. _Did you mean it?_

Foxy had already answered when he came running down the hallway. To Mike, that was all he needed to know.

\- - - - -

When it turned to six, Mike quickly got up and left through the right door. His throat was tight and his eyes were still wet. It had been around one when Foxy came out, and Mike and had been off and on crying ever since. He made sure to shut up and look away when Bonnie and Chica made their rounds, he was practiced at crying quietly, but Foxy brought fresh tears to his eyes a second time on the second run.

He had a feeling that Foxy enjoyed it.

He knew they were looking at him, glaring with those cold eyes, and they burrowed into his skin to freeze like frogs in the mud. Mike didn’t look at them, he simply made his exit.

After locking the door, he promptly dropped onto the sidewalk and started crying a little louder.

Freddy’s had been a safe haven for Mike when he was little. When Sir let Mama out of the house, she would take Mike there every time. Mike had had a sliver of a childhood, and it had been born and spent here. He had found friends, both human and flesh. Mike had learned what playing was, how fun it was to play tag and to eat pizza. The whole gang had sat on the mattress Mike had called a bed; they were still at the House, torn to shreds by his old bullies, their remains in a little bag. He had forgotten them in his panic.

It was silly. Really, it was. Children had wild imaginations, which blinded them to the bare joints that couldn’t be covered on the animatronics. Mike hadn’t had an imagination, any sort of fun or hope crushed under Sir’s shoe, but it had come to life in the pizzeria. Foxy talking to him for the first time looked so real, like he was actually a talking fox, and Mike had been trustworthy enough where he was told the secret of the animal crew.

Now Mike had truly lost all his friends. Layla and the rest had disappeared years ago, and the only other friends Mike had had were the animatronics, and now they were just as dangerous as the rest of the world.

The headlights brought Mike’s attention to Chris’s truck. He had no idea when the janitor pulled in, but Chris was getting out of the vehicle and making his way over to Mike. The dark hazel eyes held the same coldness Mike saw in everyone, one that never thawed and always froze him.

“Cracked already?” Chris asked when he stopped in front of the teen.

 _I’m not cracked, I’m already in pieces._ Mike shrugged. 

Chris looked at the kid. Night two was when that creepy fox came out, so… “You met Captain Fuckface, huh?” he guessed. At Mike’s questioning look, Chris said, “The red one. The thing that’s supposed to be a fox but looks like a coyote. The shitty pirate. Ring a bell or not?”

The younger gave a small nod. “Yeah,” he rasped.

“Good to know he still scares the kids,” Chris said. He couldn’t help but admit to himself that he did feel a little bad. He was a dick, sure, but he didn’t like seeing kids cry. “Alright, get in.”

The way back to the apartment was quiet. Mike simply looked out the window, slumped and tired. Chris found himself wanting to fill the silence.

“Breakfast?” Chris suggested for some reason. Why was he offering breakfast again, it wasn’t like Logan had specifically said he wanted him to get the kid food every morning.

Mike shook his head. “I feel sick.” He did; his stomach had been in knots all night thanks to him overeating. The very mention of food made him want to dry heave.

“Of course you do,” the man responded.

Chris pulled up to the same spot as yesterday morning. Mike unbuckled and got out without a word.

Before he could close the door, Chris said, “Logan wants you to call him today.” He handed Mike a slip of paper that had been in the cup holder. “Here’s the number.”

Mike gave him a tired look even as he took it. “No phone, remember?”

“Yeah, I do.” Remembering that the kid was living here for a reason, Chris dug into his pocket and fished for some change. He found some quarters and handed them to Mike, who took them confusedly. “Payphone.”

“Okay,” Mike murmured, pocketing the paper and change. “Bye.”

Instead of driving away, Chris sat there on the curb. He had a bad feeling in his gut, like something was going to happen. Chris’s instincts had sharpened over his time at Freddy’s, and right now they were giving him a bad feeling, like he shouldn’t have just let the kid go inside.

But he shrugged it off. Foxy was pretty scary, Chris would admit. The kid was just traumatized by the sheer neglect and size of the thing.

“Don’t let him get to you,” Chris muttered to himself. He put the truck in drive. “Don’t let him get to you.”

Mike didn’t bother looking back to see if Chris was gone. He rushed up the two flights of stairs, neglecting the thoughts of waking up the neighbors. His sneakers pounded against the creaking wood, his keys jingling loudly in his hands while he struggled to find the right one.

He managed to get the door open, shutting it with shaky hands behind him. He kicked out his sneakers and practically ripped open his jacket. His fingers were unbuttoning his uniform shirt before he knew it, his legs moving towards the bedroom. Half the buttons were undone despite his unsteady hands. The carpet scratched at his thin socks.

_Stop. I have to stop. I need to stop, this isn’t normal. I have to be normal, I have to be normal, I have to be normal…_

His shirt was off and on the bed, knife in hand. Mike was shaking like a wet kitten clinging to a branch, tears streaking down his sunken cheeks as he gripped the knife’s handle. It was like it would disappear if he didn’t hold it tight enough. He couldn’t stop himself from going into the bathroom, storming there on weak legs, and flicking on the light.

The milky skin that Mike was forced to wear was covered in scars. Scars of light and dark, pink and brown, littered his skin. They lined his ribs like little minnows, thin fish starving for his insides. His stomach was barely spared, thin circles around the caved rim. Sides were lined all the way down, sneaking beneath his pants, and his arms were overlapping with their unwanted medallions. Mike didn’t want to think of his back, where most of it was butchered from his attempts to invade it. Ugly imprints, faint from months of being allowed to breathe, dotted his body like spots.

A sob left Mike’s lips. The scars had built up over seven years. Seven years after discovering self-punishment and control. Seven years after Mama swallowed those colorful candies and cracked her head off of the sink. Seven years of being alone in the House with the monster that prowled them.

Mike hated doing this to himself, his body, but it was like an addiction, something that his mind pleaded for. One part of him knew it was wrong, that it was sick and abnormal and only made him feel more disgusting. The other, the one that he always agreed with, knew it was right. They fought each other every day, Mike’s skin caught in the crossfire and his fragile mind splintering.

So he compromised and went with both.

It was for punishment at first. Punishment for being the reason Mama died, and punishment for existing. He was the reason Mama killed herself, because she had bared a child she never wanted. Sir had made it clear that it was Mike’s fault, and he had certainly made it clear that he hated Mike if the daily beatings didn’t get through to him. Mike’s existence was an ugly reminder of everything everyone hated: Mama, Sir, the other children at school.

Then Mike realized something else that came with the once horrendous pain: the control.

He could remember realizing that in his old bedroom, blood dripping onto the towels and staining them. He remembered the elation, the excitement. He had the control to inflict pain upon himself whenever he wanted, not anyone else. Only Mike could make that decision. He had nearly killed himself from how long he had continued his punishment afterwards just to have that control. Mike had woken up dizzy and sluggish like usual, but he had felt so, so happy that he had found control over himself for the first time in his life.

But it wasn’t normal. Mike could never be normal if he kept cutting himself, from what he knew. He had seen the studies in health class, the pictures of therapists talking with someone who was on the edge, but he had heard the laughter directed at him for being even more pathetic than he already was when he was down on the ground shielding his head from shoes at rocks.

Mike didn’t know why he wanted to be normal anymore.

The knife had been purchased at a store Mike had been to before. He had to space out his visits to them, especially if he was buying a knife. Mike learned that after he had seen a cashier whispering to a security guard and gesturing to him from afar, and he had put the razor back and grabbed a loofah instead to cover his tracks. He made sure to make his blades last, because to store owners and the employees would get suspicious if they discovered a pattern.

He raised the blade with a trembling hand, looking for a spot that wouldn’t hinder him at his job or peek through his clothes. Shadows curled and clawed at him from the corners of his eyes, Mama's voice whispered just behind his ear that they would eat him. Sir's shoe was tapping against the door. His skin itched with cries to do it and pleas to put it down.

There wasn’t a choice to put it down anymore. He had to do it, he had to get the pent up pain out and into the sink. Mike had to take responsibility; for Foxy’s sake.

Blood bubbled from his upper forearm and steadily built up before gravity began pulling it downwards into the sink. It looked too sharply colored against the white, too bright. Soon it would unevenly coat the insides of the sink and probably some parts of the floor.

A black dot made an appearance next to the little red puddle. Then another, and then another. Mike looked up at the mirror, trembling. The whites of his eyes had been engulfed in an inky blackness, his irises consumed and replaced with the sink’s whiteness. His skin struggled to balance its temperature. He could hear the leaves of the tree outside the apartment building despite there being no breeze.

Oh, right. That was the other reason he couldn’t be normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have many friends that struggle with self-harm, depression, suicidal thoughts, anxiety, etc. I also struggle with depression, anxiety, and suicidal thoughts, and I'll tell you that admitting that you're struggling is nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed of. Anyone who tells you otherwise is wrong.
> 
> Depression Hotline: 1-630-482-9696  
> Suicide Hotline: 1-800-784-8433  
> LifeLine: 1-800-273-8255  
> Trevor Project: 1-866-488-7386  
> Sexuality Support: 1-800-246-7743  
> Eating Disorders Hotline: 1-847-831-3438  
> Rape and Sexual Assault: 1-800-656-4673  
> Grief Support: 1-650-321-5272  
> Runaway: 1-800-843-5200, 1-800-843-5678, 1-800-621-4000  
> Exhale:After Abortion Hotline/Pro-Voice: 1-866-4394253  
> Child Abuse: 1-800-422-4453  
> UK Helplines:  
> Samaritans (for any problem): 08457909090 e-mail jo@samaritans.org  
> Childline (for anyone under 18 with any problem): 08001111  
> Mind infoline (mental health information): 0300 123 3393 e-mail: info@mind.org.uk  
> Mind legal advice (for people who need mental-health related legal advice): 0300 466 6463 legal@mind.org.uk  
> b-eat eating disorder support: 0845 634 14 14 (only open Mon-Fri 10.30am-8.30pm and Saturday 1pm-4.30pm) e-mail: help@b-eat.co.uk  
> b-eat youthline (for under 25’s with eating disorders):08456347650 (open Mon-Fri 4.30pm - 8.30pm, Saturday 1pm-4.30pm)  
> Cruse Bereavement Care: 08444779400 e-mail: helpline@cruse.org.uk  
> Frank (information and advice on drugs): 0800776600  
> Drinkline: 0800 9178282  
> Rape Crisis England & Wales:0808 802 9999 1(open 2 - 2.30pm 7 - 9.30pm) e-mail info@rapecrisis.org.uk  
> Rape Crisis Scotland: 08088 01 03 02 every day, 6pm to midnight  
> India Self Harm Hotline: 00 08001006614  
> India Suicide Helpline: 022-27546669  
> Kids Help Phone (Canada): 1-800-668-6868, Free and available 24/7  
> suicide hotlines;  
> Argentina: 54-0223-493-0430  
> Australia: 13-11-14  
> Austria: 01-713-3374  
> Barbados: 429-9999  
> Belgium: 106  
> Botswana: 391-1270  
> Brazil: 21-233-9191  
> China: 852-2382-0000  
> (Hong Kong: 2389-2222)  
> Costa Rica: 606-253-5439  
> Croatia: 01-4833-888  
> Cyprus: 357-77-77-72-67  
> Czech Republic: 222-580-697, 476-701-908  
> Denmark: 70-201-201  
> Egypt: 762-1602  
> Estonia: 6-558-088  
> Finland: 040-5032199  
> France: 01-45-39-4000  
> Germany: 0800-181-0721  
> Greece: 1018  
> Guatemala: 502-234-1239  
> Holland: 0900-0767  
> Honduras: 504-237-3623  
> Hungary: 06-80-820-111  
> Iceland: 44-0-8457-90-90-90  
> India: 022 2754 6669  
> Israel: 09-8892333  
> Italy: 06-705-4444  
> Japan: 3-5286-9090  
> Latvia: 6722-2922, 2772-2292  
> Malaysia: 03-756-8144  
> (Singapore: 1-800-221-4444)  
> Mexico: 525-510-2550  
> Netherlands: 0900-0767  
> New Zealand: 4-473-9739  
> New Guinea: 675-326-0011  
> Nicaragua: 505-268-6171  
> Norway: 47-815-33-300  
> Philippines: 02-896-9191  
> Poland: 52-70-000  
> Portugal: 239-72-10-10  
> Russia: 8-20-222-82-10  
> Spain: 91-459-00-50  
> South Africa: 0861-322-322  
> South Korea: 2-715-8600  
> Sweden: 031-711-2400  
> Switzerland: 143  
> Taiwan: 0800-788-995  
> Thailand: 02-249-9977  
> Trinidad and Tobago: 868-645-2800  
> Ukraine: 0487-327715


	5. Too Young for Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Mike manages to recover from his episode to call Logan, he's invited to the park to talk. With Logan's family being there, Mike not only gets clarification that Logan's not a psychopath, he also gets a glimpse at what a real family is like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am super sorry for how late this is! I've been stressing pretty bad over school and college work. I've actually had a few embarrassing screw-ups this week because of my worsening tiredness, all of which were hilariously small, but whatever. Everyone's a critic unless they're on the chopping block, and believe me when I say that some people are always on my block.
> 
> There's something I want to explain in the end notes since it's pretty lengthy, so I'll leave you to the chapter. Enjoy!
> 
> Also it was very late when I finished this and I was very tired, so please forgive me if there are some errors.

The bathroom floor was freezing against Mike’s skin. The shower rug was scratching against his cheek. The cold is what woke him up, his body breaking into weak tremors as awareness returned to him. Glassy eyes managed to focus on the crumbling ceiling, his muscles twitching and his brain sluggishly putting the pieces together. _Foxy. Chris. Meltdown. Cutting._ The events were slotted into their places, but his brain could only pull so much from the wreckage.

Mike managed to pull himself up, groaning at the pain in his left arm. He caught a glimpse of it, pathetically bandaged with a loose towel wrapped around it. The gauze was tinted with the blood that had slipped through, the color almost pink. It was a macabre candy cane, and what a shame that Christmas had already passed.

The teen dragged himself to the toilet and threw up. His stomach, the pitiful thing, drudged up enough where it was actual vomit. Usually he was too empty to do much more than dry heave, but an episode like this, where he literally lost his mind, always gave fruit. There wasn’t much, just bits of the aftermath with the pancakes, but to Mike it felt like coughing up a horse pill.

When his stomach seemed to be empty and the nausea settled down a little, Mike pushed himself to his feet. The sound of the toilet flushing rang in his ear, the water from the sink freezing against his hands and mouth. Despite that, he felt fairly numb, his eyes gazing aimlessly to wherever they went.

He didn’t really remembered what happened afterwards, but he faintly remembered collapsing next to the tub to bleed into it. It was easier to clean than the sink. Mike remembered leaning against it, crying quietly and shaking as his blood boiled and stung at his icy skin. He vividly remembered the black dripping from his eyes and onto just about everything, but a slow look told him that there was no trace of the substance.

Mike checked on the tub. It was filthy, dry blood sticking to the bottom. He sighed and turned to shower on, grabbing an ice scraper from beside the toilet. Over kill, Mike knew, but it was pretty handy in cleaning stuff up without really doing anything.

As Mike halfheartedly cleaned the tub, he wondered about that substance and his eyes going black. He always wondered about it. He couldn’t remember where it came from, and he certainly didn’t know what it was, but he did remember the first time it happened.

_Crying. His bandages were bloody from the blow, skull ringing like a sick church bell. Sir was walking away, muttering about how useless his son was._

_Mama tried to make him quiet, clammy hands over his mouth to stop the sobs. She was scared of the shadows she always told him about, scared that they’d come for him now that he was making noise. Mama dragged him to his room and wrapped a shirt around his face to muffle him._

_The sick feeling of burning alive and freezing to death flooding him, the awareness that came with it, the power. He was angry, eyes burning and lungs expelling the air needed to screech. The shirt was torn in half, his teeth bared and arms swinging._

_Mama was screaming, screaming that the shadows had gone down his throat and possessed him. Her nails raked down his back, bloodying the bruised skin, jumping to his throat to press and choke. She was muttering prayers, prayers that she said her mama and daddy had taught her, but he screeched over them like a rabid infant. He clawed, kicked, and bit, screeching all the while._

_Mama had taken a pillow and hit him with it like a bat. He passed out after his head slammed against the wall. Mike traced the outline of the dent that his head had made in the wall after that to remind him that he wasn’t entirely crazy._

Sometimes Mama would come into his room at night and wake him, saying that the shadows were going to eat him, and she’d take him outside to stand under a streetlamp while she sat on the edge with a knife. It became weekly after that, even when her eyes weren’t dead and distant. It happened every week at least once, no matter what the weather. It didn’t matter if it was below zero or a nasty storm; outside under the lamp was a requirement.

Mike had hated it, but now that Mama was gone, gone because of him, he would do it the moment he was asked.

But it still made no sense. As Mike grew, he began to suspect that it wasn’t the shadows his Mama talked about, but something else. His stitches were taken out earlier, the doctors commenting on how fast he had healed, his hair growing back rapidly. Mike felt like something else was happening, something abnormal, but not entirely bad. Sure, his emotions were completely swamped when it happened and it was hard to control himself, but… But…

_But he liked the power._

The tub was clean. Mike let the ice scraper fall into it with a sharp thud and trudged out of the bathroom.

Mike didn’t feel like eating. His stomach was growling lowly, but he couldn’t handle food right now. He felt drained and hollow, so he just plopped down on the couch with a sigh. His eyelids drooped, his arm throbbing faintly as he cradled it over his chest. He began to drift into a doze, one much more comfortable than his previous arrangement with the bathroom floor.

Then he remembered: Logan.

With a groan, Mike heaved himself up. It was mid-afternoon, and Mike knew that even though he should sleep, he needed to talk to his boss. He slid off the couch and went to get dressed.

Mike was relieved when he opened his door to hear Miss Lady yelling at someone. While he felt bad for the guy, Mike knew it was her on and off boyfriend, at least it wasn’t Mike getting yelled at. He had a feeling that he’d get yelled at later for going against her wishes. The teen sneaked down the hall, because he knew that she would definitely hear him walking away.

There was a receptionist at the desk. He was lanky, but definitely had more mass than Mike. The teen didn’t recognize him, the fear of talking to someone knew beginning to nibble at him, but he really didn’t want to have to walk down the street to get to a payphone where strangers would be everywhere.

“Are you missing your key?” the new receptionist asked blandly.

“I need to use the phone,” Mike managed to say.

The stranger huffed. “Use the one in your room.”

“The people before me took it,” the younger said, annoyance slipping into his voice. He knew that there was a paper with the people who had things missing or damaged in their rooms, and Mike was on it. “It was never replaced.”

"Wonder why,” the guy muttered. He pointed to the door behind him. “Knock yourself out.”

The backroom closet was dingy and gross, but it was better than the payphone outside. Mike took the slip of paper out of his pocket, picking the phone up from its cradle to put the numbers in. It began ringing a moment later, Mike returning the paper to his pocket.

When he heard the phone being answered, Mike suddenly didn’t want to talk to Logan.

“Hello?” Logan’s voice came through.

Mike swallowed. “Hi,” he rasped.

“Mike.” His name was said strangely, like it was painful to say. “How are you doing, sport?”

Despite the position Logan had put Mike in, the teen couldn’t help but feel a little touched at the nickname. “Fine,” he answered. “Chris said you wanted to talk to me?”

“Yeah,” Logan said. “Why don’t you come on down to the park? It’ll be better than explaining over the phone. It’s a nice day, too.”

Despite the urge to start screaming, to yell at Logan for doing this to him, for putting him in the horrible hell that used to be his dream, Mike simply said, “Okay.”

The sun was out without the hindrance of clouds. There was a pleasant warmth today, but Mike still wore his jacket. He was still cold, he was always cold, but it wasn’t the whole reason his arms were crossed across his chest; his left being mostly cradled. Even though he didn’t look any different on the outside, his skin itched with the imaginary stares and the urge to pick at his new cuts.

The park was still fairly empty, what with all the slush on the playgrounds. Some kids, normal kids, were playing basketball, people were strolling along aimlessly in lighter clothing. Mike looked around as he walked the concrete paths that spider-webbed across the park before deciding to check by the river.

Logan was sitting on a bench, facing away from Mike. A woman sat next to him, her features sharp and curly, dark garnet hair barely contained under a green cloche hat. Two little girls were playing in front of them, bundled up and building little snowmen in the piles of snow. One had long dirty blonde hair that hung off her shoulders, the other having a wild set of red curls.

Mike was frozen. Logan’s family. Logan had a family. Logan had a wife and children.

A chocolate eye caught Mike’s figure. Logan turned and smiled. “Mike!” he called warmly. He stood up and walked the few feet away from his family. “Hey, sport.”

Mike was still staring, his eyes wide and nearly blank. Logan’s smile became a concerning frown. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead came a woman saying, “Logan? Is that the boy you were talking about?”

Logan turned to his wife. She had stood up, moving gracefully towards them. “Yes,” he answered. He looked at Mike again. “Mike, this is my wife, Petunia.”

Mike had to crane his neck to look up at her now that she was standing. She was…very tall. She was taller than Logan, the man coming up just above her shoulder. Her body reminded Mike of an hourglass, the pretty ones he would sometimes see in the windows of antique shops. Her eyes were a beautiful dark green; like basil leaves. She smelled like roses.

“Hello,” Petunia greeted. Her voice was smooth and light, like a fishing lure in still water. He could hear a faint accent with it. “You must be Mike. Logan’s been talking a lot about you ever since you were hired.”

Mike swallowed. He felt strangely calm for some reason, and that made him uncomfortable. “Hi,” he whispered shyly, his eyes moving to his shoes.

Petunia smiled and looked at Logan. “He’s absolutely adorable.”

Mike’s cheeks started turning pink. He wasn’t used to getting compliments, and from a nice lady who didn’t need to waste her breath on him, Mike was pretty nervous. At least, that was the word he thought he was looking for.

“Girls!” Petunia called over her shoulder. “Come over here and meet Mike.”

Mike’s eyes widened. “O-oh,” he stammered. “I–.”

The two children had stomped through the snow in a heartbeat. They crowded their parents’ legs, each girl clutching one. “This is Caitlyn,” Logan introduced, giving his leg a small shake to show that it was the blonde one. “And that’s Rosie,” he said, pointing to the smaller girl with red hair.

“Your hair’s long,” Caitlyn piped up. Her eyes were a light forest green. “You’re a boy.”

“Boys can have long hair,” Petunia told her daughter. “I think it looks cute.”

“You have a crow on your head!” Rosie yelled, alarmed.

Logan chuckled. “His hair’s black, Rosie-bear. It’s not a crow.”

Rosie stared at Mike for a moment longer. “I’m gonna say it’s a crow!” she proclaimed. She looked up at Petunia with wide vanilla cream eyes. “Mama, I’m hungry!”

Mike stiffened at her choice for Petunia’s title. _Mama._

“Your yogurt’s in the lunch bag,” Petunia said. She looked at her husband. “I’ll get their snacks out. You two can talk about work until they’re done. After that, no more work talk.”

Logan saluted. “Aye, aye, ma’am.”

She rolled her eyes with a poorly hidden giggle. She tugged her girls away from Logan and Mike, leaving them alone with each other.

“Sorry if Rosie overwhelmed you,” Logan apologized. “She just turned five last month. She’s wilder than Caitlyn ever was at that age.”

Mike nodded absently. “Yeah,” he said quietly.

Logan then sighed. “Mike, there’s a lot of stuff I need to clear up with you. I feel horrible for not doing it earlier.” He glanced back at his family. “Let’s walk, okay?”

Mike didn’t know if it was a good idea to be talking in public, even if the amount of people around was smaller than him. A few ducks waddled across the path they walked down, hungry for food and quacking at passerby.

“I’m so sorry I gave you the job,” Logan started, his voice somber. “I didn’t want to give it to you, I didn’t want to give it to anyone, but you were the only one that applied, and there weren’t any other positions open.” He sighed. “I hate leaving people in limbo when they’re looking for a job, but I hate it even more that the only one open is the night shift.”

“My name,” Mike blurted quietly. “You recognized it from somewhere. It wasn’t from work, was it?”

The man ran a hand threw his hair. “No,” he admitted. “It’s pretty hard to forget the Bite.”

Mike felt relief that it wasn’t because of his relation to Sir. He looked up at Logan. “Foxy’s still there,” he said plainly.

“Yeah,” Logan responded. His eyes slid to the river. It was brown from the mud and slush. “I didn’t want to get rid of him over something that wasn’t his fault. The kids loved him, you know? He was so different from the other animatronics. I mean, I know he’s just a robot, but he was a part of the place for a long time.”

So Logan didn’t know their secret. "He was my favorite." _He was my first friend._ “Do you think it was an accident?” Mike asked. There was that tiny, horrible flicker of hope in his chest, hope that it was just a lapse in Foxy’s memory and not actually hatred.

“…I don’t know,” Logan said after a moment. Mike felt his eyes burn, but before he could even think of crying, Logan said, “I think someone sabotaged him.”

Now that caught Mike off-guard. “Sabotage?” he echoed, baffled. “That… That doesn’t make sense. He’s just a…” Mike didn’t want to say it, even if it was to protect the secret he was entrusted with long ago.

“I know, it sounds crazy,” the man said. “But I remember looking at the reports when I took over, and some things didn’t add up. At least, not to me.”

Sabotage was something Mike had never even dreamed of suspecting. He just went with the only two options he thought were possible: accidental or purposeful. His throat felt dry. “Then who did it?”

Logan looked at him cautiously. He looked conflicted, like he wasn’t sure if his answer would do Mike good. “…You were friends with the five children that went missing, right?” he asked.

Mike felt his head begin to throb. His arm was throbbing with it, awakened by the motherboard. “Yes,” Mike responded, sadness echoing through him. “They were… Weren’t they killed?”

He found the paper with the funeral services the day he took shelter in the library. He had to be doing something if he was staying. He had blurted out that he wanted to see the papers from 1987, of the Missing Children and their final resting places. The woman at the front desk told him it was his funeral after she gave them to him. It almost certainly had been. The words, however, were now fuzzy in his minds. Mike couldn't remember how exactly they died.

Logan nodded. “By a guard.”

Mike stopped. “A guard?” Something began piecing together in his broken brain, something very important.

Logan stopped with him. He debated with himself if he should go on, but Mike deserved more than what Logan was able to give him. “His name was Roger Patterson. The manager at the time hired him out of pity; said he couldn’t find a job because of his issues.”

“What issues?” Mike asked, looking up at Logan with searching eyes. Maybe…?

“I don’t know. Some behavioral stuff, I think,” the blond answered. “I guess he had a hard time with his emotions and he said that if he was around kids, he could control it better. I guess his reasoning was because they were children and they needed an example of a good adult.” Logan shook his head. “The biggest mistake ever made.”

“He killed them.” Mike felt like he was spacing out, drifting. Memories were pricking at his brain, whispering to be put back together and played.

_Darkness. The power had gone out. There was a storm, but it wasn’t the lightning. Children were crying, parents were bewildered, staff was frozen. No one had a flashlight. There was thunder, loud and rolling across the roof._

“Mike?”

_He was sitting in Pirate Cove, crying. He was scared of the dark. He was scared of thunder. Foxy was with him, sunny eyes giving off a dim glow. A fluffy hand was patting his back, accented voice trying to calm him down. Freddy was moving through the dwindling crowd towards the back, his icy eyes his own flashlight._

“Mike?”

_Foxy was leaving, leaving just like Bonnie and Chica had. He said there was something wrong, that Freddy needed help. He promised Mikey that he’d turn the lights back on, and that Mikey had to be brave until then. Mikey said he would even though he cried, not wanting the captain to leave. ___

____

_Foxy never came back. None of them did. Freddy, Bonnie, Chica, Foxy: they didn’t come back from the bathrooms. Mikey sat there crying until a staff member, a waitress, found her way over. She held his hand as she led him out, assuring in a sweet voice that Captain Foxy was tough enough to brave the darkness with his friends._

____

_Layla wasn’t outside. Neither was Agatha, Tyler, Zoey, or Cassidy. Agatha’s parents took Mikey from the waitress to shelter him beneath their umbrella. They kept asking him where Agatha was, where the other children were at. Mikey just kept crying, crying, crying. He was crying for some reason; because of the dark, the thunder, the…_

____

_The what? What else was he crying for?_

____

_Mama wasn’t there. She never was. Mikey stayed with Agatha’s parents; everyone’s parents. They huddled around him like he was the answer to all their questions. Cassidy’s mom was holding him. Mikey knew that Cassidy didn’t like being held. She was clutching him like a doll. It hurt because she didn’t know how to hold child._

____

_A man was in front of the doors. His badge was shiny. He told Mikey that he polished it himself so that people could see him. Mikey saw his cloudy grey eyes, saw them staring at him with longing, empty gaze._

____

_Mikey started screaming. Those eyes had been inside Freddy, they had turned Freddy yellow and made him–!_

____

Mike let out a choking sound. Spit had been caught in his dry throat, muscles constricting painfully. He was lying on his back, but someone was lifting him up. Someone was patting his chest. Mike coughed and coughed, struggling to get air past his nose and mouth.

____

“Easy,” a voice said, floating down to Mike. “Take it easy, sport.”

____

_Logan?_ Mike peeled his eyes open. His legs were stretched across the backseat of a car, the door open to reveal the dusty parking lot and trees. He looked up, seeing Logan’s concerned expression and frightened eyes.

____

“What happened?” Mike croaked after his coughing settled down.

____

“You passed out,” Logan told him. His free hand shifted, and Mike realized why he couldn’t breathe through his nose. Logan was holding a tissue to it. “Your nose started bleeding, too. It was pretty bad. I thought you were having a seizure, but you weren’t shaking.”

____

“I don’t think I was,” the teen said. He looked down at himself, seeing that some of his shirt hadn’t been spared from his nosebleed.

____

“I brought you to the car. Petunia’s still with the girls.” Logan was still patting his back. “How do you feel?”

____

“Tired,” came the response. He squeezed his eyes shut. “My head hurts.”

____

Logan’s face pinched with guilt. “I’ve got ibuprofen. I’ll get you some.” He took away the tissue. “I think it stopped.”

____

Mike just hummed brokenly in response.

____

“I’m so sorry for bringing that up, Mike. I didn’t think… God, I never think,” he choked, running a hand through his hair. It was a habit he couldn’t break. “I’ve already dragged you into this whole mess, you didn’t need me reminding you of that day. I’m so sorry.”

____

“’s okay,” Mike murmured. “I can’t forget it even with my brain being like this.”

____

Logan felt his heart split in two. “I know.”

____

\- - - - -

____

Mike got out of the passenger seat. He still felt shaky and sick, but not as bad as he had felt in the park.

____

“You gonna be okay?” Logan asked from the driver’s seat. He still had that concerned look on his face, the one that Mike remember that the man wasn’t a psychopath. “You could stay at our place for a while.”

____

“I’m fine,” the teen said, even though he wasn’t. “I’m just tired.”

____

Logan looked like he wanted to say something, something that needed to be said, but instead the words were, “Get some rest, okay?”

____

Mike didn't think he could sleep at this point. "I'll just drink some coffee." 

Logan frowned. "You're too young for that stuff."

Mike shrugged. "I like hazelnut."

_Duly noted._ "I'll see you later, sport," Logan said, dropping the subject. "We'll talk more later, okay?"

"Okay. Bye," Mike said, shutting the door. He turned away quickly and walked towards the apartment building door, slipping inside like a stray cat.

____

Logan sat there for bit. He saw the state of the building, and he instantly knew that Mike couldn’t stay here. The teenager had no reason to really trust him, which Logan absolutely understood, but maybe he could convince Mike to move in with him and Petunia. Petunia certainly loved the boy, and Logan had a feeling he’d be listening to Rosie going on about Mike’s hair. Mike would be welcomed in without any hesitation.

____

He broke from parking and drove away. He would make sure that Mike knew the option was on the table.

__Then he remembered what he had wanted to ask Mike. He needed to know if Mike wanted Foxy scrapped._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come
> 
> Also I feel like I should clarify some things just in case. This is 1997. It's mentioned if you go to the series summary, but this is 1997. Also, Logan's not a medical professional. I know that some seizures aren't spastic shaking, but Logan doesn't know that. He's a pizzeria manager, not a nurse.
> 
> Some of you may be familiar with Rebornica/Bones and what was once their (I believe they identified as non-binary) FNAF AU. If you are, you'll probably remember a character they were using named Chris, who was a janitor. So for those who may be thinking the worst, I can assure you that it's fine. The Chris used in their AU, which they gave to a select group of people, is not at all the one I'm using, and both characters are completely different. The only similarities is their nicknames and occupations, and even there, Chris's full name (which will be revealed later on) isn't Crystal, and my Chris is not trans.
> 
> Also some of you may have caught on to the small hints I've been dropping with Mike and the animatronics. I want to assure you that it's an original idea and not something from Rebornica/Bones, though I was pretty excited to see that someone had a somewhat similar idea. If you missed the massive train to their AU in four years back, rest assured that everything will be thoroughly explained.
> 
> While I will admit that most of this AU was actually inspired by their's, as were a lot of other people's universes, everything's completely different and original. The OC's, Chris, Logan, and other mentioned non-canon characters, in this story are mine, the idea is mine, and this AU is mine. Nothing is taken from Rebornica/Bones or from other AU's. I just thought I should clarify in case someone jumps to conclusions.


	6. Night 3: Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike lets himself think about the strange phone man, which leads him to a near permanent lapse in judgement. Just when Mike thinks he can recover from it, Chris confronts him about his identity of being the Bite victim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get it out earlier, but some stuff like writer's block (or the issue of me rewriting/moving scenes), my issues with focusing on just one story, and my mental health got in the way. My first exam is coming up this Wednesday, so I'll be pretty busy with studying and stuff. I don't think I'm hitting the block yet, but I'll try and be cautious.
> 
> Also the new Mystery Skulls video came out, check it out. Another fandom to get sucked into, because I'm finding myself dusting off an old fic or two that I wrote in my pre-alpha days. Maybe I'll fix it up when I have time and post it :) Also their music's really good. I've been listening to Every Note all day, so you'll get a gist of what I listen to when I write (and what plays in the background of the suffering of my characters)
> 
> But seriously, I don't know if I'll survive with the massive cliffhanger they ended with. I'm still freaking out about it and I watched it at 7 in the morning. Now I remember what truly inspired me to start writing: cliffhangers!
> 
> !!! Warning: Brief mentions of sexual assault !!!

When Mike was walking past the register, he noticed the coffee cup on the counter. The logo told Mike that it was from that really good one down the street. Steam drifted from the little opening, the smell pleasantly blanketing the air. A slip of paper was settled against the cup, along with a few packets of sugar and creamer.

Mike sniffed. _Hazelnut?_ He looked around, like it was a trick or test, but no one was there. He reached and took the paper, unfolding it. The faint crinkling made Mike look into the main room in case any of the animatronics heard it. They wouldn’t move before twelve for some reason, he didn’t get those answers from Logan, but Mike wasn’t going to take the risk.

_“Even though you’re too young for it, I got you some coffee. Hazelnut, your favorite! It should have cooled down by the time you come in. I got you some sugar and cream to go with it. Don’t get addicted to this stuff, okay? I heard it makes you short. – Logan.”_

Mike bit his lip. Logan didn’t need to get him coffee at all, but he had. He even remembered what Mike had said. The teen sniffled, his eyes damp, and he took the coffee cup like it was made of glass. It was comfortably warm against his cold hands, heat massaging his bitten skin. He pocketed the sugars and creamers as well before ducking his head to avoid the stone gazes of the animatronics.

It turned twelve just as he got into the office. The phone started ringing as Mike had suspected it would, but he still jumped enough for some coffee to escape the little opening. At least it didn’t get on his uniform. He sat down in the chair, sipping his coffee. He never modified it, but he didn’t need to with how delicious it already was.

The phone clicked. _“Hello, hello? Hey, you’re doing great!”_

Mike smiled.

_“Most people don’t last this long!”_

Mike frowned.

_“I mean, you know, they usually move on to other things by now. Uh, I’m not implying that they died. Th-th-that’s not what I meant.”_

Despite the, although poor, cover, Mike knew the guy felt bad about lying. The man was trying not to get caught giving out secrets even if they saved lives. Mike could only imagine how the company would feel if they found out an employee loyal to this shift for over a year was giving out information, no matter if it saved lives or not. Logan would get into massive trouble, and now that Mike knew he wasn’t a bad person at heart, he didn’t want that to happen.

_“Uh, anyway, I-I better not take up too much of your time. Things start getting real tonight.”_

Mike’s heart fluttered like a trapped butterfly. He knew it would get worse, but just how bad was this going to get? Mike was used to things going bad to worse, but he at least had escape routes in case his life was actually in mortal danger. He knew the animatronics wouldn’t give him one here.

_“Uh, hey, listen, I had an idea! If you happen to get caught and want to avoid getting stuffed into a Freddy suit, uhh, try playing dead! You know, go limp. Then there's a chance that, uh, maybe they’ll think that you're an empty costume instead.”_

Go limp? Mike had mastered the art of playing dead. It became a necessity over the years as Sir became more aggressive with his punishments and as the kids around Mike grew up. He was so good at it that sometimes he actually had people believing they had beat him to death. It worked, mostly because the kids got bored and Sir lost interest. Maybe…?

No, it wouldn’t work. Not here. The animatronics were too smart for that.

_“Then again if they think you're an empty costume, they might try to…stuff a metal skeleton into you. I wonder how that would work.”_

Mike shuddered despite the warmth of the coffee. His insides were shifting just at the very thought of that, like they could avoid the imaginary metal.

_“Yeah, never mind, scratch that. I-it's best just not to get caught. Um… O-ok, I'll leave you to it. See you on the flip side!”_

The lights hummed quietly. Mike could already hear movement. He set his coffee down and grabbed the tablet, flicking it on to see that Bonnie and Chica were already gone, Freddy’s eyes front and center.

Mike was really glad Logan had gotten him the coffee.

Within the first hour, Mike was already beginning to buckle. Bonnie was extra ruthless tonight, Chica teasing him by moving back and forth in her hallway. Foxy had been peeking from his curtains for forever, and Freddy seemed to be having a staring contest with the stage camera. The four were trying to get him to focus on one, to panic at the intensity.

But Mike was used to being panicked. He was in a constant state of panic, and while he felt horrible overwhelmed, he felt hyper aware of the consequences of breaking down tonight. He couldn’t allow himself to buckle completely, because as much as he wanted to die, he didn’t want it to be like this. He tried to force himself into only checking the Cove with the monitor and using the lights when he heard Bonnie and Chica sneak by, but it was difficult.

After shutting the door for the umpteenth time on Bonnie, his power steadily draining, Mike began to wonder. Standing by the door and waiting for Bonnie to leave, Mike looked at the phone. It looked like no one had touched it in a while. From remembering what Chris said, it probably hadn’t been touched in two weeks.

Bonnie stomped away, defeated for the moment, and Mike opened the door. He slipped back into his swivel chair, a quick peek at the cameras telling him that he was safe for at least a moment.

Did the man before him have a family? Had he been like Logan, happily married with children? Had he been like Mike, drowning in misery? Had he been a good person? Bad? What had he looked like? Where had he lived?

Mike gave the doors another quick glance. Chris hadn’t mentioned the man’s name, only how long he had lived: a year. How desperate did the man have to be to work here? Had something on his record prevented him from getting a better job, or was this the only one available? Mike knew how hard it was to find a job, especially with what little skills he had. Maybe this had been a last resort and no other job could satisfy whatever the man needed.

Like a family.

_“I’m sorry,” Mike murmured. He was slumped in the passenger seat of Logan’s car._

_Logan glanced at him with a confused expression. He had gone to tell Petunia that he was taking Mike home. “For what?”_

_“I ruined your…” The phrase was so alien that Mike felt like he was from another world when he said, “family time.”_

_“You didn’t ruin anything, Mike,” Logan told him, his voice gentle. “We go out to the park all the time. Taking you home is barely a dent in that.”_

_Mike just nodded. He didn’t believe Logan at all._

He had seen how happy Logan’s daughters were, waddling around in the lumps of snow with each other. They hadn’t been cowering or bowing their heads, they had been clinging to their parents in joy and looking them in the eyes without fear. They had been glowing with innocence and health, their cheeks chubby with good weight and their bodies protected by wonderfully warm, thick coats. They were loved and cared for, their skin free of bruises or handprints.

Rosie hadn’t been scared of her mama’s touch.

_“Mama’s just trying to keep you safe, baby.”_

Mike dug his bitten fingernails into his forearm, pressing down through the fabric and irritating his cuts. He didn’t want to remember her voice when she was like that, looming over his little nest with her dead brown eyes and her naked, battered skin.

He focused back on the sounds of the pizzeria and the sight of the phone. Above the thundering of his heart and his weak legs, his thoughts of the phone man spoke louder. Mike would never meet the man who was helping save his life. He could ask Chris for a picture, but it would only be a painful sting that humans could be molded into a pile of gore if the pressure on their struggling, kicking bodies was enough. A picture would only give Mike’s imagination the ammo it needed to spread what carnage was undoubtedly left over from the suit.

The coffee was almost gone. Mike snatched the cup and took a long swig. Even though comfortably warm, the onslaught of heat burned his throat just like he wanted.

Mike’s eyes were burning. He sniffled, a pathetic sound to his ears. He couldn’t control his brain even if it was to save his life, and his emotions were entirely different field to burn. He rubbed at his eyes furiously, the backs of his palms pressing harshly against his eyelids. He hated his stupid, shredded brain. He hated that he couldn’t be a normal kid and live a normal life like Logan’s children. He hated that he was such _a fucking crybaby! Why can’t I ever stop crying?! I can’t stop crying, why can’t I stop crying?!_

Clattering footsteps, like long fingernails tapping against a table. Mike jerked out of his emotional swamp and bolted to the other door. Chica’s hand had been outstretched long enough for them to be grazed by the door as it came down.

Mike slumped against the wall, throat tight. He considered letting her in, letting her drag him to the backroom so that he could finally die. He wouldn’t be able to chicken out halfway through like he always did or be interrupted. There were three more hours to go, there wouldn’t be anyone to save him. His scarred hand hovered over the door button, trembling. Contemplating.

He heard Chica walk away.

Tears stung his tired eyes. His hand curled into a fist and hit slammed it into the door button. The button thankfully remained solid and unbreakable, but the click was loud enough to make Mike flinch harshly. His hands tangled in his hair, tugging and ripping at the thick locks. His skin was itching for a cut, to regain its control and punishment, his hands tingling as he fought the urge to rip them to shreds with his teeth.

They were playing with him like Sir always had, like feral cats with the patience to stalk a bird with a broken wing. They were teasing him with the power that they had, the power to bat him around with their hardened paws until they got bored and decided to sink their teeth into his flesh and feathers. They knew what he wanted, what he was thinking, and they were going to hold that over his head like a worm to a baby bird.

They _knew_. Mike swore they did.

Another sound. Mike ripped his hands from his hair and flew over to the left door. He caught a glimpse of Bonnie’s smug face before the door slammed shut, the once jubilant face twisted into a blood-lusting grin.

_I’ll tear you apart, all of you. I trusted you, all of you, and this is what I get for it. I’m not stupid, I’m not. You’ll pay, you’re all going to pay for betraying me, especially that stupid goddamn fox who ripped my fucking head to pieces–!_

Mike gasped sharply. Black dissipated from his eyes, the dull blues clearing away the milky white that had begun to infect them. He grabbed at his hair, pulling desperately. No, no, those were bad thoughts. Thoughts like those made him angry, and Mike didn’t want to get angry. If he got angry, he could become like Sir, and the fear of becoming like the monster himself made Mike want to wrap himself in a thick blanket and hide under the bed.

The teen reigned in his mind, shaking violently. The animatronics didn’t deserve that, not from him. It had been Mike’s fault for trusting them, not theirs. Him and his naïve self.

He really hated that promise he made to Chris. It would make everyone a lot safer if he wasn’t alive.

\- - - - -

Chris’s arm hung from the window of the truck, halfheartedly waving Mike towards it. Even though he should be used to the arrangement now, the teen still found himself so cautious that he felt like he was crossing a tightrope with bricks for feet.

“Do you want food?” Chris asked when Mike opened the door.

Mike slipped into the passenger seat. “I’m kind of hungry,” he murmured. He sort of was, but not really. His appetite, something he didn’t really have, had revived when Chris got him pancakes.

“Fine.” The wheel twirled under Chris’s hands, curving the truck gracefully. “Pancakes again?”

“Yes, please,” Mike answered, his seat-belt clicking, though he glanced at Chris. The man was acting weird. Even though Mike had only known him for three days, he could tell that Chris wasn’t right.

As they drove, Chris didn’t look at Mike or talk to him the entire time. The man’s face was stone, giving no emotions away, his eyes frozen to road. Something twisted in Mike’s gut, fearful and skittish, and he scooted against the passenger door as close as he could get, a hand close to the lock and the other near his belt lock.

_What did I do?_

Chris ordered for him again, getting the same as last time. Mike just thought that he’d get his food and Chris would take him home, the bag being tossed into his lap, but that wasn’t what happened. When Chris turned away from the exit to find a parking space, Mike felt his appetite slowly eating itself away. It wouldn’t make Chris look good if Mike sprang out of the vehicle to hightail it away, but Mike was more scared of the possibility of Chris beating him than anything else at the moment.

They parked. Chris shut off the truck. Mike was tensed and ready to escape.

“You’re the Bite victim,” Chris said, voice flat.

Mike blinked. That…wasn’t what he was expecting to start out with. “Yeah…?” he responded.

“And you didn’t say anything.”

“I… I thought you knew; working there and stuff…”

The obvious tightening hands of Chris’s hands on the wheel wasn’t lost on Mike, the young heart beating faster. “Logan just told me today,” the janitor told him.

The younger swallowed. “I–.”

“You’re quitting,” Chris said.

The raven-head startled at that. “Quit?” he echoed.

“You’re high, not deaf,” the janitor snapped.

Mike’s face scrunched in annoyance. “I’m not–!”

Chris’s hands slammed down on the steering wheel. Mike instantly shut up, locking his annoyance and anger away to replace it with the common fear and submission. He pressed himself firmly against the door, bag loosely fitted on his lap and hands tucked to his chest. His dull eyes were wide and pooling with anticipation, locked on to the callused hands.

They were a lot like Sir’s.

“I don’t fucking care what you are!” Chris yelled, voice deep and furious. His eyes were focused on the wheel, like they would give Mike whiplash if he looked at the kid. “You’re quitting the moment Logan comes in! You’re not working in that place anymore!”

Mike knew he should keep his mouth shut, because he only made people mad when he did, but his curiosity managed to get its claws on his mouth to open it and say in a quiet, tiny voice, “Why?”

“You’re going to die in there,” Chris hissed. “Face it, kid, you’re not going to last tomorrow. Thursday’s a record for almost anyone, you’re just getting lucky. I don’t want to clean your guts up and you don’t want to die, so there’s no point in arguing.”

 _You have no idea what I want._ Mike just didn’t understand Chris’s sudden change in attitude, though. He didn’t blame Chris for not having faith in his survival skills, because Mike didn’t have faith in himself either, but… “I don’t want to,” he said softly.

Chris’s head whipped to him. Mike cowered. “Are you fucking kidding? I can find you a job where death isn’t in the application. You’re not staying there just because you have money problems.”

“It’s not just that,” Mike managed to say, his throat tightening.

“It doesn’t matter what it is,” Chris growled, hazel eyes blazing. Was the kid really that stupid to even think of staying? “You’re quitting today.”

“Why do you care?!” the teen blurted loudly. Annoyance had burst from its cage, anger at its tail. “I’m just a stupid kid to you, what does it matter if I cause a minor inconvenience?!”

“Wow, you can use big words,” Chris mocked sarcastically.

“Answer me then!” Mike was shaking, his vision flickering back and forth. Even though the fear was eating him alive, his furiously hot blood was running to his head like race horses. He was pissed, pissed because he was trapped in this truck and pissed that Chris was being a jerk.

“Because survivor’s guilt doesn’t do shit when it hits ten years later, Mike!" Chris snarled.

Mike covered his ears, nails digging through into his scalp. “Shut up!” he screamed. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

_“Are you talking back to me, boy?!”_

“This isn’t some job for fucking redemption or whatever!”

_“I’m your fucking father, you don’t talk to me like that!”_

“They’re dead, Mike! They’re fucking dead and you’re alive! Get over it already!”

Mike’s eyes were pitch black, black droplets on his cheeks and his pupils a sharp white. _“Shut up!”_

Chris recoiled violently. Mike kicked at the door once, the lock breaking with a loud crack as it swung open. The teen ripped out of his seat-belt, tearing the fabric, and jumped out of the truck. His sneakers hit the pavement, and then Mike was running, his blood moving like hurricane winds and reality tearing itself in two. Cement turned to creaking floorboards, birdsong became a screaming woman’s melody that echoed down the corridors of a child’s prison.

Chris’s eyes were wider than full moons, his jaw dropped. “Mike!” he yelled. He scrambled out of his seat-belt and with the door lock. “Mike!”

The teen was running across the road. Traffic was busy enough for there to be a car or two in the lanes periodically. Chris’s heart twisted and jumped. He sprinted for the road. _He’s going to get fucking hit by a fucking car!_

A car did indeed pass by Mike, but it missed, the driver seemingly indifferent to the possibility of nearly running a kid over. Mike was down the sidewalk within seconds, passing by the occasional rattled bystander without giving them a single look. His body grew smaller and smaller as he ran into the distance, and then he was gone.

Chris had stopped at the crosswalk. He stared after the kid. His legs felt weak, his heart was pounding, he…

_He felt scared._

Chris found himself vomiting in the bushes seconds later. He hadn’t bitten his tongue at all, but the taste of blood was strong in his mouth. He could smell cake batter and rotten flesh. His hands clutched at the bushes and their branches, the twigs poking his skin like the wires of a suit did when he stripped away the faux fur.

He staggered back to the truck after he was done, throat stinging and nose watering. Instead of getting in right away, he stopped by the passenger side. The door had been locked, and the kid had kicked it open like it was nothing. The lock was undoubtedly busted, and the seat-belt was in tatters. It looked like a tiger had used it as a chew toy. The door hung on its hinges, the longer length of the seat-belt sitting on the seat.

The bag with Mike’s pancakes was lying on its side, the clean white paper absorbing the gross slush that had pooled in a dip.

Chris stared at the door for a long, long beat.

Then, “What the absolute fuck?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could the black substance be real after all and Mike isn't actually entirely crazy, or was Chris fooled by the early morning light? 
> 
> More to come ;)


	7. Night 4: Unwanted Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike dreams of the woman that he both loved and feared, and later faces the horrific fate of the man on the phone. Meanwhile, needing to address his behavior, Chris is forced to soften up for the kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guess whose laptop and mouse decided to stop working last night as I was updating the chapter and erased everything I had on here and then had more technical difficulties? :D
> 
> So this chapter is out super late in my opinion, and I'm super sorry about that. My "free" weekend turned out to be anything but that, as I had more work to do and caught a nasty cold, but I persevered. I also decided to delete my explanation here since it was beginning to bother me now that that time has passed.
> 
> !!! Warning: Graphic depictions of sexual assault, graphic depictions of gore !!!

_The floorboards were creaking just so. Mikey could hear the boards moving beneath light feet, mama’s feet. She was moving slow, like she had just been beaten by Sir, and Mikey knew that couldn’t be right. He hadn’t heard her screaming earlier or Sir’s boots thumping around; Sir was asleep, had been for hours now. It was the sound of Mama moving throughout the house that kept Mikey awake._

_The door to his room was always open, just a crack. Mama didn’t let him close it. She said it was because of the monsters in the shadows that could eat him whenever they wanted, and she was the only one who could protect him. It was silent like all the doors in the house when it opened, the creaking sound something Sir hated, and Mikey couldn’t help but stiffen when he heard it shut, hugging his Foxy doll closer. The others were above his head, sitting guard against the monsters._

_Shuffling. Then a cold hand on his arm. “Mikey, baby,” Mama said, her voice soft despite her common screaming fits. “They keeping you awake again?”_

_Mikey didn’t want to look at her when she was like this. “No, mama,” he said._

_“They’re keeping me awake,” she told him. She was rubbing his arm. “They always keep me awake. I had a dolly that kept them away, but your papa threw it away when we got married.”_

_Sir didn’t like it when Mikey called him papa or daddy. Mama knew he didn’t like it either, but she always called him that when she was like this; when the monsters got her. Mama could change between happy to angry instantly, her smooth voice becoming louder and rougher than anything Mikey had ever heard. She would scream and throw things in The Closet, because Sir locked her in there when she did when he was home, cry and cling to Mikey like the floaties he never got to use, or sit in the armchair with an empty, long stare._

_“Possessed”, Zoey had said jokingly. It had been the first time he had ever told anyone about Mama’s moods. He was sitting at one of the tables with her, Cassidy, and Layla, the others not there yet. When Mikey asked what that meant, Layla, her mouth stuffed with pizza, said that meant there was a ghost in Mama’s body making her do things she might not want to do. Mikey hadn’t told them everything that she did, but enough where he had to beg them not to tell their parents._

_Cassidy’s face, usually devoid of joy, became smug, the only other emotion she seemed to really have. She told Mikey that maybe Mama was doing those things because she wanted to do them. She said Mama was crazy and needed to be locked up in a white room for the rest of her life, chained with fabric. And even though Mikey had cried, even though Zoey had turned her brash personality on Cassidy to shut her up, even though Layla had forced Cassidy to apologize, he wondered which one was right._

_Mikey also wondered if Mama and Sir were married. Layla’s parents wore rings on their fingers, something Layla said married couples gave each other to show their love. Agatha’s parents had them too, and so did Tyler’s parents. Zoey said her parents had worn rings; she had gotten them after the car crash that left her scarred killed both her papa and mama. Cassidy’s parents had them, but she had said confidently that they were getting divorced because her papa had been dating someone who wasn’t her mama behind her back, because her papa hated that Cassidy wasn’t normal._

_Mama didn’t wear a ring, and neither did Sir, but she said that they were married._

_Her cold hands had moved to his face. A finger traced his little lips, which were locked shut. The hand then went to his nose, reaching inside both nostrils for a few moments before Mama moved to his ears. Her other hand wedged beneath his head to poke inside the other one. The entire time, Mikey didn’t move, because he knew what she was doing and he never like what she did._

_“Not yet,” Mama muttered to herself. Mikey was sure it was to herself. “Not yet.”_

_She laid herself down on her side, her body against his. Spooning, Cassidy had told him. It was something people did when they were really excited with each other, or if they had just gotten done having sex. Cassidy liked making Mikey cry, so she went into specific details when he asked her a question. Even Layla forcing her to sit in a chair until she apologized didn’t make her stop, nor did Zoey pummeling the girl in to the tiles, or Tyler physically dragging Mikey away whenever she came over._

_Cassidy had gotten angry, truly angry, and said Mama was a dirty bitch when Mikey told her Mama did it to him. Mikey never understood why of all things, that got her upset when she had no problem with making Mikey cry. Whenever she saw Mama, she would bite at the skeletal fingers and scream._

_The rags he called his blankets were flimsy walls against Mama’s hands. Mikey didn’t move even as her hands slipped beneath them and under his clothes. Her nails were scratching against his back; they were always uneven. Mikey shivered, fighting the urge to suck his thumb. He was too big for that, everyone told him, but Mikey didn’t know why it bothered people._

_“They can get in through there,” Mama murmured, her fingers just above his rear. “That’s what my mama and daddy said. The doctor always checked me, even if I wasn’t having a fit.” Her lips grazed Mikey’s ear. “I have to check you, too.”_

_Whenever Mama did one of her checks, Mikey cried. He hugged his Foxy doll close and cried as quietly as he could, because Mama would start hitting him if he alerted the monsters and Sir would wake up. He bit down on everything he could; his hands, his wrists, the blanket. Even the Foxy doll’s ears. He bit, and bit, and bit, and bit, and he didn’t stop. He could bite Mama, but Mikey was too scared to do it._

_“You’re growing up,” Mama whispered. Her fingers were still cold. “Doesn’t matter how big you get, they’ll always get inside you.”_

_Mikey just kept biting. Anything near his mouth was taken between his tiny teeth and held like a vice._

_“Mama’s just trying to keep you safe, baby,” she said, her voice a mouse’s hush. “Mama’s just trying to help you.”_

_She always said that. Mikey had learned a long time ago that it was a lie._

_Footsteps, heavy ones that pounded against the wooden floors. Mama didn’t stop touching him. Mikey was completely silent._

_The door opened. Then, “Fucking sick bitch. I knew you were in here,” Sir snarled, his voice heavy with sleep. He stomped over. “Touching me with those disgusting hands. Sick fucking woman.”_

_Sir grabbed her by the hair and yanked her up. Mikey winced and cried out. Mama started screaming, his eyes wild and body thrashing. Sir was yelling at her, dragging her out of them room. Mikey didn’t turn around, his teeth firmly sunk into the doll’s ear and his bitten nails anchored into the fur._

_The Closet door opened down the hall. Mikey heard Sir throw Mama in it, heard her screaming even when he slammed it shut. She would scream for another hour until she went quiet, and then she’d be sitting in the armchair the next morning with that empty stare._

_Sir was in the doorway. “Bet you enjoyed it, sick little fuck.”_

_Mikey knew he was smirking._

Mike’s eyes opened slowly, glassy with tears and misery. He was lying in bed and facing the wall, the sun shining through the blinds. His body ached, his skin felt sticky. He tasted blood, felt the sting where he had bitten his tongue. His hands ached with bites, red peeking from beneath this skin. 

He felt like he’d be hit by a truck. 

The teen sat up, groaning at the pain that shot through his skull. His upper lip felt sticky, and he found dry blood when he reached and touched it. The blue eyes sluggishly scanned his hands, dry with blood as well. His entire body ached and stung, like someone was peeling duct tape off of his skin. Blood dotted the blanket. 

“Hey, kid!” 

Mike gasped loudly in fright, flailing uselessly. He looked around wildly despite the crick in his neck. He finally managed it settle it on the doorway, where Miss Lady was standing. 

“Jesus, kid, you having a seizure or something?” she asked, obviously uninterested. 

The teen sucked in a breath, relieved that it wasn’t a robber…or Sir. “How’d you get in here?” he asked, catching his breath. 

Miss Lady lifted up a thin finger and twirled a key. “You gave me a spare after our rat deal.” She huffed. “Your memory’s shit.” 

“Yeah,” Mike muttered. If only she knew. He slid off the bed. “Did you hear a rat?” 

“I came to check. I found one around your fridge.” She pointed outside. “It’s dead and in a bag.” 

“Okay,” the boy said. He rubbed his face. “You know where the money is.” 

Miss Lady huffed. “I won’t charge you this time.” 

Mike looked at her, surprised. “Why?” 

Her sharp eyes were looking him over. “You look like you got hit by a truck.” She crossed her arms. “I don’t want to give you any more reasons to shred yourself. Christ, kid, you went crazy on yourself.” 

The teen ducked his head. “Sorry,” he murmured. 

Miss Lady sighed. “Kid, you’ve got to stop doing this to yourself. You get all weepy and that wakes me up, but I don’t like seeing little kids all cut up and you go way over the top.” 

Mike nibbled his lip. “I can’t help it.” 

“I know, and I’m being a massive hypocrite right now.” She turned and walked out. “Today’s for free. Don’t worry about it.” 

“Thank you,” Mike called after her. 

“Don’t mention it.” 

The door shut with a hard click. 

Mike looked down at himself and groaned. His uniform was gross. 

\- - - - - 

Mike slipped into the pizzeria, quietly locking the doors behind him. The cold night air was sucked away with the warmth of the building and the smell of hazelnut. He looked at the counter to see that, yes, Logan had gotten him another cup of coffee. 

The day had dragged slowly. The sluggishness of his…whatever that was weighed on him constantly. Mike had to peel away his uniform like it was glued to him, then drag himself down to the basement to wash it, and that wasn’t a fun activity. At least Mike had avoided eye-contact with the man on the first floor who was brandishing a knife in case anyone tried anything. 

After the poor cleaning and attempt to wash out the stains that hadn’t come out, Mike’s uniform now had a lot of pale spots. He just hoped Logan wouldn’t get upset. He hoped Chris wouldn’t notice, either. 

And speaking of Chris, Mike barely remembered what had happened. He remembered the conversation after a certain point, and then it had bled into a nightmare. He remembered screaming, yelling at Chris, and running down the sidewalk. It was like someone had poured paint on a picture; some parts wouldn’t be seen without ruining it. 

Mike was incredibly nervous after he had cleaned his uniform and gotten back upstairs. He would peek out the window from time to time, searching for Chris or his truck. He didn’t leave his apartment, because what if Chris was out there and saw him? How would Mike explain what had happened when even he didn’t understand? No one had ever seen one of his fits before, and Mike was terrified of what could happen. 

But night had fallen and there was no Chris in sight. Mike’s walk to the pizzeria was just like it always was, quiet and lonely. 

There was something in the air that made Mike hurry down the hallway. His gut was tight with anticipation, much tighter than usual; he was almost sick. The office, when he reached it, felt horribly cramped. Mike swallowed dryly, looking at the phone. Something was wrong. 

The clock struck twelve. The phone rang. It seemed extra loud tonight. 

_“Hello, hello? Hey! Hey, wow, day four! I knew you could do it!”_

Despite the praise, Mike’s grip on the coffee cup tightened. Something wasn’t _right._

_“Uh, hey listen. I may not be around to send you a message tomorrow…”_

Mike heard banging, Foxy banging on the door. His heart dropped when he realized it was coming from the phone. 

_“It’s… It’s been a bad night here…for me. I’m kind of glad I recorded my messages for you…when I did.”_

More banging. Mike’s breathing became fast, his eyes wet. _Please, no…_

_“Uh, h-hey, do me a favor. Maybe sometime, uh, you could check inside those suits…in the backroom? I’m gonna try to hold out until someone…checks. Maybe it won’t be so bad.”_

Mike was crying, rasping. He had set the cup down to clutch at his sleeves, his wet, wide eyes glued to the phone. He could feel it: the fear the man had felt in that very moment. 

_“Uh, I-I-I-I always wondered what was in all those empty heads…back there.”_

Freddy’s song was playing. Someone was rasping, their breaths quiet and choked. It wasn’t Mike. 

_“You know…”_

Mike did. 

_“Oh no.”_

A screech, inhuman, blared throughout the room. Mike didn’t have any time to cover his ears before the call ended with a simple click. 

Silence. 

Mike buried his face into his hands and wailed. 

\- - - - - 

This guard was getting on Freddy’s nerves, and usually it took a lot to do that. 

They thought he would be an easy catch, what with them turning up the heat, but no. The little mouse of a man managed to survive. He took risks and waited until the last minute to close a door, he had figured out their patterns without flying into a panic, and he had found the secret to conserving power. 

As annoying as it was, Freddy kind of admired him for that. He was giving them a challenge for once, something they both loved and hated. He reminded Freddy of the previous guard with how risky and quick he was. They were wildly different in personality, the previous man being much more cheerful and fearless, but their antics were very similar. 

Of course, a mouse can only hide so long before the cat gets it. 

The icy eyes slid to the backroom door. He could still hear the screams of the previous guard, how he cried out names and for help. It had been fairly slow, Freddy would admit; the man had been determined to live, but the human body could only take so much pressure before something broke. 

_And so does the human mind._ Freddy smirked. If they couldn’t catch their mouse tonight, he could still prove who was holding the cards. 

So as he stepped off the stage, eyes bleeding to black, he couldn’t help but laugh. 

\- - - - - 

Mike was still in the corner after the clock chimed six, shaking and whimpering. 

The power had gone out just a minute before six. Mike could barely keep himself calm, his body breaking out into tremors and his throat alive with whimpering. He had taken to a corner of the room to cower, because he knew he couldn’t run. He had listened to those heavy footsteps from the west hall, one of the animatronics coming to take him to the backroom, but he had literally been saved by the bell. 

Freddy had gotten deathly close tonight. He had decided to pay Mike a visit that lasted far too long. Mike caught on quickly that Freddy could sneak past the blind spots, but he didn’t understand how the bear moved yet. Friday, Mike knew, would be the true test of his skill and will to live, and none of them were going to let him walk out of the building alive if they could. 

It had all been so fast. Freddy’s laughter, Foxy’s pounding, the rasping moans Bonnie and Chica let out when they were close. They worked together to catch their prey, just like they had caught the previous guard. 

Sitting in the corner, Mike found something in the emptiness of shock. 

_“…check inside those suits…?”_

He was alive. The man was alive. 

Mike was moving. The stiff fear that the threat of death had installed moments ago had been ripped out and replaced with desperate need. His muscles worked, moved, and the he was running down the west hall despite the overwhelming fear of Foxy deciding to break the rules and surprise him. He ran past the curtains, not even bothering to check for Foxy's hook, and the arcade games, and made a beeline for the backroom. 

The backroom door was shut. It practically radiated with death; Mike could smell it. He grabbed the handle, ignoring his sore hands, and twisted it so hard that he thought he broke it. He probably did, because he heard a loud snap and felt the handle give an unwilling jerk. 

The backroom was even more sinister in person. Without the distance of the hallway and the shield of a camera feed, Mike saw the raw horror of the room. Wall to wall, there were shelves with heads, heads of the characters he once thought were real. A large table sat in the middle of the room, the endoskeleton limp and inactive. Suits lined the walls beneath the shelves, bulky pieces that hung from hooks. Boxes were stacked in the corner, some empty and some filled with animatronic parts. /p >

Mike felt sick. He reached for a light-switch, but found none. Either it wasn’t there or he was missing it. His heart was pounding, cold sweat beginning to form on the back of his neck. He stepped inside, making sure the door was open enough in case he needed to make for the exit. 

“Hello?” he called quietly. His eyes were squinted, struggling to see. The dim light from the main room did nothing to help him. “Are you here?” 

He heard nothing. There wasn't any sound that didn't belong there already; silence. Mike didn't hear any movement or breathing. He heard nothing at all. 

Mike was moving past the table. He ignored that it looked as long as his height, that he could be pinned to it perfectly. “Hello?” he called again, desperate to be quiet but desperate to be heard. “I'm here.” 

The boxes were behind him now. The light of the main room was useless, now only a hindrance to his adjusting sight. Mike felt the fear closing in, a hand coming up to his mouth the bite at the already damaged flesh. The man hadn't been in front of the door, he hadn't been in the lower left of the room, and there was only one more corner to search; there wasn't much room left. 

Then, as Mike suddenly felt his body seize with burning frost, he found something. 

The Freddy suit was a disgusting doll of horror. Blood was everywhere; the wall, the floor, just everywhere. Organs were in a pile on the floor, torn by the insides of the suit and flayed like party streamers. The arms of the suit were hanging limply from their shoulders, strings of the human body holding them above the ground. They were soaked through with blood, shredded flesh and torn fabric pushing through the gaps where fur failed to cover. The suit, once a deep, chocolate brown, was an ugly, bleached yellowish-white. It was falling apart, cleaned too many times, held together through the unwanted help of the human body. Muscles, tissues, flesh: all was torn apart and crushed by the incredible pressure of the suit. A pair of shoes was in front of the body, dress shoes made to match the uniform that was now irreversibly ruined. 

The mouth hung open. Little dots, teeth _teeth those are teeth holy fuck_ , littered the bottom of the mouth. They were shiny, like little snowflakes. The optic nerves twitched. The eyes, the shiny, beautiful honey eyes, looked at him. 

**_"It's me."_**

Mike screamed. 

Footsteps. Running. Chris practically kicked the door in. “Mike!” he shouted. 

Mike was on the floor, his hands tangled in his hair as he screamed. It was high, almost inhuman, filled with the terror of a wild animal. There was whispering in his head, wobbling voices and solid images. All he could hear was that phrase, see those empty eyes despite his own shuttered away, and it sent utter terror through him like a bullet. 

Chris rushed over and dropped onto the floor, grabbing the flailing teenager as best he could. “Mike! Mike, stop it, it’s just me!” Chris yelled. He pulled the kid against him, pinning him with strong arms. Mike only struggled, trying to rip away. “Settle, fucking settle!” 

The younger was trying to breathe, his throat blocked with nothing. The nonexistent hands reaching for him were disappearing, letting go, as Chris yelled in his ear. Mike couldn’t find the tranquility to stop struggling, the fire too hot in his blood and his skin too cold, and he desperately tried to escape. 

Chris took in a breath. “Settle,” he commanded, much less angry this time. “Settle.” 

Mike coughed and choked. He lurched forward and vomited. He heard Chris make a sound, but it wasn’t like there was much; only bile and traces of a small snack. 

“Fucking hell,” the janitor muttered. He loosened his grip on Mike. “Cough it up, kid.” 

Finally, after minutes of dry-heaving and quiet swearing, it was over. 

Then, “What the fuck are you doing back here?!” 

Mike groaned as he was lifted. He couldn’t find the fear to stiffen, instead letting Chris plop him onto the table. He rubbed his face, exhausted and sick. “Ugh,” he responded lamely. 

“Do you have any idea how loud you were screaming?!” Chris asked, furious. “I thought you were being stuffed! You gave me a fucking heart attack!” 

Mike lifted his head, horrified. “Don’t you see it?” he asked, voice wrecked. 

Chris looked at him incredulously. “See what? Did you come back here for a rat?!” 

The teen gaped, baffled. “There!” he pointed to the corner. “The-the body, the body!” 

“What?” Chris snapped. He looked over Mike’s shoulder, eyes wide. “There’s no fucking body, Mike, it’s just the damn suit!” 

Mike whipped around. Sure enough, the bleached suit was there, but the blood, the body, and the shoes were gone. The suit looked completely empty of anything unnatural, its ugliness clear for all the see without the wild color adorning its fur. 

He shivered violently. “N-no,” he stammered. No, he… He was in there, he was…waiting for help. I…” 

Chris lightly bit his lip. The kid was obviously shaken up, and Chris had a feeling it had more to do with the lights going out. He glanced at the suit, a chill creeping up his spine. That thing always gave him the creeps, because he had to clean it. He had told Mike about where the guards went, but… 

"Okay,” the janitor sighed. “Who are you talking about?” He would rather the kid not have a heart attack. 

Mike swallowed. “The guy on the phone, the… The phone guy.” 

Chris raised a high brow, confusion clear on his face. “The phone guy? What are you talking about?” 

Right, Chris didn’t know about that. Mike scratched at his sleeve. “The guard before me left messages on the phone,” he confessed. 

Chris gawked. “What?” 

“He says hello twice in a row.” Mike felt the need to solidify his claim. 

Mike yelped when Chris grabbed him by the shirt and hauled him off the table. The man's hazel eyes were burning, face furious. "That's not a funny joke, kid," he snarled lowly. "Who told you about him?"

"No one!" the teen whimpered. His feet were just barely touching the floor. "There's messages on the phone, I swear!" He felt like he was going to vomit again. "Please let go of me."

Chris let him down, but didn't release his shirt. "Come on," he hissed, dragging Mike out of the backroom. "This better not be a joke."

Mike was given the privilege of leaning against the left doorway as Chris went to inspect the phone. He looked at Mike again, eyes narrow and suspicious, before hitting the button.

The man’s face was twisted in to a mixture of shock and horror when the previous guard's voice came through the speaker. He stared at the phone with wide eyes and a his jaw dropped. Mike felt relieved that he wasn't going to get whatever Chris had been intending to hurt him with, but his heart ached for the dead guard. At the fourth message, Mike hid his face and pressed tightly against the door frame like it would swallow him and take him somewhere else. 

Silence. 

“…Had a feeling he would do something like that,” Chris said quietly after a minute. He ran his hand over his face. "He could have gotten in so much fucking trouble." 

Mike shifted. “Can you leave the messages there?” he asked. “I… I need him here.” 

Chris looked at him, hazel eyes tired. The kid looked scared. Chris wasn’t cruel enough to take this small comfort away from him, no matter how much trouble they could get in if someone found out. “Sure,” he sighed. “Sure.” 

Still, he was pretty concerned that the kid had hallucinated so vividly that he was sent into a screaming panic. 

Mike locked the pizzeria doors once they left the building. Chris had parked right beside the sidewalk. The teen hesitated, then opened the passenger door. The other had already climbed inside. 

“Do you want pancakes?” Chris asked. His voice was…gentle. “I kind of fucked up your breakfast yesterday.” 

The younger nibbled his lip. How was he going to explain his fits to Chris? “Yeah,” he admitted. 

But Chris didn’t drive. He sat there, eyes front as if he was driving, before sighing. “You scared the fuck out of me yesterday,” he said. Mike stiffened, but Chris said, “I thought you were going to get hit by a car.” 

That was what worried Chris? Hadn’t he seen? “I…” 

“I’m sorry I scared you.” Chris sighed. “I freaked you out enough for you to break the lock on the door.” 

Mike blinked owlishly. He had rarely gotten an apology, a real one, before. Logan's was still fresh in his mind. He felt horribly sorry when Chris mentioned the door, and Mike opened his mouth to apologize. 

“I don’t get buddy-buddy with the guards here, Mike,” the janitor told him, unaware of the teen’s attempt to say something. “They either die, run away, or get institutionalized. I got sick of it and stopped giving handouts.” He took in a deep breath. “But I’ve been a massive prick to you when you’ve gotten the worst of this place." 

Mike brought up a hand to nibble on. He didn’t know what to feel. Scared? Relieved? Chris was being nice, and Mike wasn’t sure how to take it. He had taken Chris to be similar to Sir, but now that he was hearing the man apologize, he didn’t know. 

Chris had looked after at Mike’s silence, and his eyes widened when he saw Mike biting an already wounded hand. “Jesus!” He reached and carefully pulled the hand from the kid’s mouth. “What the hell, kid?” 

The teen cowered. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I can’t help it, I… I bite when I’m nervous.” 

Chris’s face had given way to concern, the stone expression gone completely. This kid had issues, he knew that for a fact, but the biting was really worrying Chris. They looked deep enough to draw blood and were fresh. He was already kind of worrying for the kid in the beginning, but after the freak-out yesterday and the one now... 

“We’re getting breakfast,” Chris said. “And then I’m bandaging your hands. They’re going to get infected if you keep doing that.” 

Mike peeked over, eyes wide with disbelief. “I…” He stopped. “Okay.” 

As they pulled out of the parking lot, Mike asked, “Did you fix the door?” 

“Yeah,” Chris said. “I’m friends with the owner of one of the shops here. It was just a broken lock.” He eyed Mike, curious. “You’re a lot stronger than you look.” 

The pale cheeks flushed at the compliment, even though he didn’t deserve it. “I guess.” 

“You guess,” the man echoed, snorting. “Fishing for party favors, huh?” 

Mike raised a brow. “What?” 

Chris chuckled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should apologize for the opening scene.
> 
> Due to my lack of ability to draw, I put a lot of detail into my writing. I would get frustrated at what I drew, what everyone else told me; just plain sick of everything. I shifted to writing instead, which is a little trickier to convey a picture for everyone reading it. Realizing that, I trained myself to be as clear and graphic as possible, including scenes like this.
> 
> I'm so sorry to anyone I possibly triggered (which is a word that needs to be taken more seriously since it doesn't mean offended). I'm going to be honest: that scene was meant to be much more graphic, but due to the nature of it and fearing that I could trigger someone, I cut pieces of it out. I don't mean any harm whatsoever to how I portrayed Mike's fear and childhood, but this is unfortunately what he went through.
> 
> If you're being/have been sexually abused or assaulted, find someone you can trust and tell them, or call a crisis hotline. It'll be okay, and you're going to be alright.


	8. Night 5: By the Throat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the fifth night, the record for any normal night guard, and Mike realizes he wants to live a little longer. It may be too late for that, because he has four very murderous and very angry animatronics that are tired of this game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, my inspiration came back! Hopefully it'll stay and not run away (it will, I won't lie) Also I have to stop putting depressing notes on this thing. That'll stop one day. Probably. Maybe. Maybe baby. Maybe nah.
> 
> So I was actually getting this chapter up last night, and I was really close to uploading it. Then I fell asleep. Like, mid-type. I woke up to my laptop toppled to the side and my dog gone. Plus it shut off and it erased what I had gotten on here, so I had to re-paste everything with my still-dying and still-malfunctioning mouse. And then I kept rewriting scenes because yay.
> 
> Cheezit's crust, I just want to eat nuggets and sleep.

“This place is fucking horrible,” Chris said, eyeing the walls as they walked up to Mike’s apartment. He wasn’t the best janitor in the world, but just looking at the shape of this place made him want to grab a flamethrower just to clean one hall.

Mike shrugged. “It’s fine.”

“Okay, you’re definitely on drugs if you’re saying that,” Chris huffed. “This place is a hazard to things I don’t even care about.”

Mike ignored the jab. “What are those?”

“My sight and state of mind.”

Chris had forced Mike to hold back on chowing down in the truck. Again, he didn’t want the kid getting sick and throwing up, which the skeletal boy had most definitely done. Mike had sheepishly admitted it on the ride to his apartment, and Chris managed to pull the fact that Mike wasn’t a big eater at all the rest of the time and that he hadn’t eaten anything of real nutrition since Monday. Just when Chris thought the kid couldn’t worm into his stone heart any further, he had to force back a frustrated grunt when he told himself he needed to get the kid to eat something better than fast-food pancakes.

Just the sight of the place had made Chris want to call the EPA, but the inside was much, much worse. Climbing the stairs was like running a gauntlet; breathing without coughing seemed like a thing to go in the world record books. It disturbed the janitor to see that Mike was completely fine with it, moving throughout the place with ease.

Chris was wondering if he should call Logan. He had wanted the kid to stay at his place, right? If he didn’t die, that is.

Mike’s apartment, despite being a natural hellhole, was surprisingly clean. Chris had expected at least some trace that a human lived there, like some pictures on the wall or, hell, magazines on a table, but the only thing Mike left behind were his shoes and a tiny hook near the door that was apparently supposed to be a coat hanger. It was sharp enough to send someone to the hospital, from the looks of it.

“I’m…impressed,” Chris said, an honest statement. As shitty as the apartment was naturally, Mike apparently wasn't a messy kid.

The teen looked back at him, an eyebrow raised. “Why?”

“You’re a kid,” the man elaborated. “A teenager. I was one once; you guys get messy as fuck.” He looked at living room again. “It looks like you don’t even live here.”

Mike nibbled his lip. Chris found that that was a common fallback for the kid. “Mice,” he simply said.

 _Ah._ Chris had almost believed that this place was too good for the little bastards. He sighed and handed the kid the bag. “Better eat before they get it.”

The couch was horrifically uncomfortable. It was hard and smelled like weed, which shouldn’t have surprised him. Chris had gotten another breakfast sandwich, which Mike had given to him, but held back on eating it when Mike began wolfing down his pancakes the second the lid was off.

“Slow the hell down, Mike,” Chris ordered. “You’re going to choke; I told you what would happen last time if you did.” The rule didn't apply to just his truck anymore.

Mike swallowed another mouthful despite the lesson he had learned last time. “’m hungry,” he mumbled. He really was despite the hallucination from earlier. He hadn’t eaten anything in days.

“Yeah, and weren’t you sick the last time you inhaled them?” Chris cocked a knowing brow. “Seriously, kid, you anorexic or something?”

That managed to stop Mike, who gave Chris a wild look. “No!” he exclaimed. “I just…don’t get to eat a lot.”

“Have to get those drugs, huh?” the man said.

“I’m not a drug addict!” Mike snapped, his cheeks pink with anger. “Stop calling me that!”

Chris honestly wasn’t sure if the kid was an addict or not. Sure, Mike was jumpy and lived in this disgusting rats nest, but the kid was making Chris question a lot of things about him. It was more of a tease than anything now, something to get the kid riled up. It was better for some angry eyes instead of the incredibly sad and empty puppy eyes.

“It’s my neighbor,” the teen went on. “She comes in here sometimes.”

 _To share drugs._ Chris decided to humor the kid. “And what’s her name?” he asked, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

“It’s…” Mike picked at his pancakes. “She won’t tell me. I call her Miss Lady.”

_Of course he did._

There was a squeak, one that wasn’t from Mike for once, and Chris looked over to see a mouse skittering across the carpet.

Chris made a face. “Ugh. That’s fucking disgusting.”

Mike had started frowning at the sight of the mouse. He sighed. “Hang on,” he said to Chris, standing up.

The janitor gave him a look. “Where are you going?”

“To get Miss Lady,” the teen answered, already at the door. “She kills them for me.”

“What–? Just get some mousetraps!” Chris yelled. He looked back at the mouse, which was now in the kitchen. Great; the perfect place for a mouse to be for a kid that starved himself.

A moment passed. Chris heard talking, a woman’s voice and Mike’s. He looked towards the doorway in disbelief. The kid had been joking about this “Miss Lady". There was no way in hell that Mike invited a druggie into his apartment just to kill mice.

The teen came back in, a woman with dark curls and amber eyes behind him. Her heels were like knives, her outfit tight and ripped. She looked at him, her eyes mirroring Chris’s wide ones.

“Hello, handsome.” She looked down at Mike. “Think you can share him?”

Mike looked like he had been slapped, his face bright red and scandalized. “He’s the janitor,” he got out past the urge to curl up and die.

“Oh, the one that makes sure you don’t skip out on work. Got it.” The woman, Miss fucking Lady apparently, gave him a sly smirk. “What’s a man like you doing working at that place?”

Chris made a face. Couldn’t help herself, could she? “I can handle the constant supply of vomit.”

Miss Lady snickered. “What a man.” She waved a hand disarmingly. “Relax, honey, I’m just playing with you. Plus the innocent child is here.” Her eyes went back to Mike. “Where’s the damn thing again?”

Mike pointed to the kitchen. “I think it’s there.”

“Yeah, it is,” Chris chimed in. He gave the woman a look. “You planning to stomp on it with your heels?”

Miss Lady let out a laugh, genuinely amused. “Made the kid cry the first time, didn’t want to hear him bawling again.” She pulled a small, net-like bag out of her pocket. It was rumbled and dirty, complete with a zipper. “Family-friendly catch and release.”

“You didn’t have to stomp on it,” the teen murmured quietly.

“It was old and attacked everything. Plus it chewed through the bag. Didn’t really have a choice if I wanted to avoid going to the hospital for a rabies shot.” She moved fluidly in her heels and tight, ripped jeans. “It’ll take a minute.”

Chris couldn’t help but watch as the woman moved into the kitchen. Despite her heels, she was quiet. She froze beside the island, then crouched. She was holding the opening of the bag wide open, and then her cloud of hair jerked forward with her body when she lunged. Mike peered over the edge of the counter, Chris watching in disbelief.

Miss Lady resurfaced, holding up the bag with the mouse struggling inside. “Bagged the little sucker,” she said, her face painted with pride.

“Thank you,” Mike said. He went into the kitchen and opened a drawer. Chris gave his back a curious, narrow look. She was charging the kid to catch mice, though he couldn’t say he was too surprised. It made sense. Really, it did. Still, Mike was struggling just like her, and Chris wasn’t a fan of mooching off of kids.

“Half price this time, kid,” Miss Lady told him. Mike looked back at her, surprised. “I’ve been in a really good mood lately, kid. Share the joy and all that shit.”

Mike blinked owlishly. “O…Okay.” He then frowned, conflicted. “What’s half of five again?”

Chris scowled. Five dollars a rat? What the hell? And Mike didn't know what half of five was? Then again...

The woman sighed. “Forgot that you’re shit with numbers. It’s two-fifty.” She put down the wriggling bag and held out a hand. “Want me to count it for you?”

Mike shifted, then nodded. He handed her some bills and change. Her thin fingers flipped out two bills, setting the rest on the island. She went through the change in record time, setting aside what was left. Chris was surprised she wasn’t cheating the kid or anything, but also disappointed that Mike was letting a total stranger go through his money.

“Don’t sweat it, kid, I was bad at math, too,” she said, pocketing the money. “Plus you got that head of yours knocked around; you get a pass from me.”

Chris raised a brow. She knew about ’87? Then again, it was all over the papers. How old was this woman anyway? She didn’t look that much older than Chris.

Miss Lady picked up the bag and sauntered out of the kitchen. “See you later, kid.”

Mike gave a small wave as she walked out. “Bye.”

When the door was shut, Chris couldn’t help but say, “I can’t fucking believe you call her that.”

The teen shrugged. “She won’t tell me her real name.”

“Probably doesn’t want you ratting her out in case the police come over.”

“She knows I wouldn’t.”

“You’re so goddamn naïve.”

Mike gave a small flinch. “Sorry,” he muttered. He moved back towards the couch.

“You have a first aid, right?” Chris asked.

Mike froze. He had completely forgotten about that, and he hadn’t really been taking what the janitor had said seriously. No one had ever offered to fix him up before, so it wasn’t like Mike thought it was true. And his scars…

“I said I was fixing your hands.”

“I’ll get it!” the teen blurted, practically leaping to the bathroom door. He opened the door and moved inside, slamming it shut behind him.

Chris had no idea why that made him feel uncomfortable.

Mike slipped back out, holding the dented and dirty box in his hands. He looked incredibly nervous, his lip under attack from his teeth again. He moved over mechanically, like he was forcing himself to move, and sat down slowly. He was scared, scared that Chris would lift his sleeve just enough and see, but Mike had no choice but to allow the janitor to take the first aid from him.

It wasn’t just the bite marks that stood out, but also the skin and nails; chewed away like beavers with trees. As Chris went over the motions, Mike kept squirming the entire time. At first Chris thought it was because of the sting of disinfectant and ointment, but the occasional jerk of a hand told the man that that was not the case: Mike had the overwhelming urge to bite. It was annoying, Chris sometimes barking at the kid to stay still, but it was fairly worrying that Mike’s urge to tear at his hands was this bad.

Mike pulled his hands back to his chest the moment he was released, the excess gauze snipped and the disinfectant capped. His heart was pounding and he felt too hot. Chris hadn’t seen the red flags beneath his jacket cuffs, and that was all Mike could ask for. He didn’t know he was chewing his right hand until Chris’s came up and carefully knocked it away.

Chris couldn’t help but sigh. “You’re going to have to find a new stress reliever, kid, your hands are bitten all to hell. You’ll lose a finger if you keep chewing like that.”

“It’s hard,” the raven-head mumbled, rubbing his hands against his chest. At least they were warm beneath the bandages.

“Not saying it’s easy,” the older shot back. He huffed, standing. “Finish your pancakes and go get some sleep.”

Mike flinched at the suddenly coldness in Chris’s voice. He watched Chris walk to the door, and suddenly a terrible, forbidden longing for the man to come back split through his tightening chest. Mike fought the gasp, but not the uncomfortable shivers. Getting attached was nothing but more pain and misery than usual, but despite learning that lesson a thousand times, Mike still wanted Chris to come back and sit with him. “Chris?” he couldn’t help but blurt.

The man was just barely out the door. He looked back, hazel eyes hard just like they were on Monday. “What?” he asked gruffly.

The teen didn’t want to say it, to bring up the inevitable, but he asked, eyes on the floor, “Am I going to die tonight?”

Chris’s face broke in two, the stones in his eyes melting instantly to allow the concern to let the hazels glow. Seeing Mike on the couch, curled up on a disgusting couch in a disgusting apartment with fast-food pancakes as his breakfast, pierced a small, caring hole in Chris’s heart and tore it open. This kid had torn down all of Chris’s defenses, all his walls and backups, and now he couldn’t even imagine cleaning up Mike’s guts without feeling unbelievably sick.

But despite that, he couldn’t lie to the kid, not completely. Not to himself, either. He didn’t have to heart to lie completely, so he said, “Probably.”

He left before he could see the stricken look on Mike’s face.

\- - - - -

Unlike yesterday, a note had been left with the coffee. Mike almost didn’t pick it up, like that could make the pain hurt less, but he couldn’t stop himself from accepting Logan’s gift. The note was smooth and neat, but the writing was shaky.

_“I don’t want this to be the last time I bring coffee for you. I believe in you, you’re going to live. Petunia wants you over for dinner tomorrow, too. You don’t want to miss out on her casserole and sweet potatoes. She doesn’t want you to miss out either. You can do it, sport."_

Mike’s eyes were already teary, and now he was starting to cry. He sniffled, pocketing the note and taking the coffee. He had no idea how Logan held so much faith in someone like him, a weepy teenager who flinched at his own shadow, but Mike couldn’t deny that it felt…pleasant.

He had been in bed all day, struggling to sleep with his uncomfortably full stomach and the fact that death was looming over his head. Death was something he could deal with, something that he could adapt to, but this was different. His possible killers were once his closest friends, and now he had people that somewhat cared about him wanting him not to die.

It was probably the mental strain that finally knocked Mike out.

Mike felt their eyes on him as he walked into the room. He didn’t look at them, he simply turned down the hallway and forced himself not to look back. The horrible fear that one of them had broken the “rules” to stalk him down the hall, the possibility of one of them, Chica or Freddy if he went by their patterns, grabbing him by the scruff of his collar and dragging him to the backroom was almost enough to make Mike scramble into the ceiling to hide.

With the weight of the former guard’s death still on his shoulders, Mike felt incredibly alone and empty when he entered the office. He looked at the phone mournfully, eyes wet, before trudging to his chair. He took out one of the creamers from yesterday.

The clock struck twelve moments later.

And then the phone rang.

Mike nearly dropped his coffee; he gasped. He stared at the phone, wide-eyed and dazed. Nothing else registered in his mind but the ringing. He was on his feet before he realized, and then the phone was in his hand and out of the cradle. Words were already forming, putting themselves together, his ears bracing for that comforting hello.

His greeting was sick, deep gurgling and static.

Mike’s body felt frozen, his skin frosted with fear and his blood coming to a halt. His heart was beating wildly, struggling against the instant terror that had ambushed him. He felt dizzy and sick. He dropped the phone and stumbled back, away from the horrific sounds.

He could see the former guard’s body in his mind’s eye. Mike had had it locked down, or he thought it did, because now it was in front of his eyes and latched onto his brain. The smell of blood was sharp in the air, the memory of the mangled corpse crystal clear. The sounds from the phone continued to play, echoing throughout his skull like broken bells. Mike could swear he heard words. He could hear _them._

Clipped screeching. Then it was over: silence.

Mike didn’t realize he had a nosebleed until he saw his uniform spotted with blood.

\- - - - -

Before the murders, ’87 had been just like the years before: happy.

Before being confined to the stage, they could walk around and interact with the children. They could pick the children up and hug them, be in pictures with an excited boy or girl on their knees. They could move freely as long as they returned to the stage in time for another show. With the four of them, three on one stage and one on the other, their shows alternated perfectly so they could entertain the children the entire time.

Those had been the days of bliss and youthful smiles, the days when they believed that humans were invincible, and where all adults were protectors of their children.

And then Patterson came, left their world in tatters, and forced them to see the cruelness of the world.

There were times that they forgot what they were doing, caught in their bloodlust, but they managed to remember past the inky blackness in their eyes and the fever.

With each guard that came here, there were only two options they would leave: in pieces or without sanity. Those who escaped their punishment never came back, and those in pieces were too frayed to stay attached to what was left. The corpses would be removed from the suit, the souls having already left, the suit would be cleaned, and they would keep using it until it was at its breaking point and use another.

And the new suit was fresh, ready to be filled with its first victim, but it still remained empty.

It was a fluke for this mouse of a man to escape their grasps for an entire week. He was far weaker than any guard who had worked here before, much smaller and more skittish, yet he had survived four nights and was now on the fifth. They knew they made him cry, made him week; Freddy had even scared him into the corner. The pathetic human, despite his incredibly weak will, continued to escape them.

So when the power went out, when Bonnie came from the hall with a triumphant look on his face and when Chica poked her head out of the kitchen, Freddy didn’t waste any time in getting to the west hall. Six o’clock was close, and he was not going to be beaten by the time. This guard was dying tonight, and Freddy wasn’t going to waste time dragging him back for a suit.

Despite his anger, Foxy didn’t part his curtains to watch.

\- - - - -

Mike heard Freddy before he saw him, but that didn’t prepare him from letting out a small cry when the song began to play and those eyes lit up.

The teen was already on his feet, Bonnie and Chica having ran him ragged with their visits. Foxy was horrible, too, the fox having constantly teased Mike with his pattern. Freddy had come to the door once and had left shortly. That should have been the first red flag, but Mike had been more concerned with keeping everyone out.

The power had gone out, the darkness was beginning to suffocate him, and Freddy’s song had cut off.

Mike gasped when Freddy swiftly moved into the office. The teen quickly backed away, struggling not to stumble, eyes on the massive bear. Despite his height and the weight of being a machine, Freddy was quick and quiet. His eyes were narrow and cold, ice chips frozen to Mike’s skin.

When Mike was just barely out the east door, Freddy struck. The fluffy hands, once sweet and kind to Mike, were wrapped tight around his throat within an instant. Mike’s wheeze was cut short, his lungs stopped in their tracks and his hands instinctively coming up to grab onto the ones around his neck. The small teen kicked and struggled despite knowing that it was the worst possible thing he could do; to waste his air.

Freddy chuckled. “Strangely feisty for your stature.”

Mike’s eyes were wide, staring at him. The voice was just as he remembered it, deep and smooth. It was much lighter and jolly when there were children around, Mike knew, but he had heard the baritone voice whenever he would stowaway for a night. The voice was that of a cat who had caught the mouse, and Mike was reminded of Sir.

“You’ve caused us more than enough trouble,” Freddy said, annoyance festering beneath the eerie calm. “I never would have thought a little mouse like you would survive until now. I must say that I’m impressed.”

Then the grip tightened.

The icy eyes were white, void black pools surrounding them. “But you’re more annoying than anything.”

Freddy’s grip was like steel cuffs, chains locked around the small throat. Mike was struggling to breathe, gasping and choking pathetically. He continued to kick, weak actions that did nothing but amuse the bear. The dull blues were teary, his lips paling and cheeks bright. Mike saw nothing but cruel delight on Freddy’s face, a smooth smirk despite him choking someone. It was an obvious display of power of Freddy’s part, because Mike knew that he could easily break a neck and be done with it.

In the last twenty-four hours, Mike had been thinking hard about dying. He thought about it near constantly, a forbidden desire that could solve all his problems and more, but this time was different. He thought about it critically, about what it could do now that there were people who talked to him, who cared about him. He thought about Chris, Logan and Petunia, Caitlyn and Rosie; even Miss Lady. He thought about them hours beforehand, and now he was thinking of them now. Mike smelled cigarette smoke, nail polish, and rose perfume.

The note in his pocket was heavy with words, the taste the hazelnut in the back of his throat.

There was no reason to live for them. After all, it was his life. He didn’t have to live for anyone but himself, and despite knowing that, Mike didn’t like hurting people. Before, there was no one to hurt, no one to care, but now he had people wanting him to live. They didn’t know about Sir or Mama, or his scars and need to cut, they just knew him for what they had seen and wanted him to live because they cared.

And Mike really wanted to know what casserole and sweet potatoes tasted like.

His blood burned so hot that he thought it seeped through his icy skin. His hands, soft and small, gripped Freddy’s tightly and pulled. Pressure, just a little, let up from his neck. Mike’s eyes were squeezed shut in concentration, but he could feel them burning. Air wiggled through his gritted teeth, pushing at his lungs to expand and move.

_"Let...go..."_

Freddy’s eyes widened. _How…?_ He tightened his hands, eyes burning brightly, no longer giving a teasing grip. This mouse was dying tonight. This mouse was dying _**now.**_ “You’re not getting out of this,” he growled lowly.

The onslaught did nothing but fan the flames. Mike wasn’t going to give up, not with his promise to Chris in mind and Logan’s note in his pocket. He didn’t want to die here, not where his friends did, and not like this; at the hands of his former childhood friend. His hands were latched onto the brown fur and his arms were shaking. Mike grunted at Freddy’s attempt to tighten the noose and forced himself to keep pushing. He didn’t know how long it was until six, or if Freddy would let go of him if the clock turned, but Mike just wanted to _live_ and _breathe_ for just a little longer.

Almost like it was the devil, the clock struck six, and the loud bell rang out as the lights flickered back on.

Another struggling beat passed. Then Mike was falling; hitting the floor.

Mike coughed wildly against the tiles, struggling to grasp his bearings now that he was free. He choked and sputtered, vomit teasing the back of his burning throat. His body felt like it was being poked with needles and pins, his brain practically lurching at the sudden intake of air.

Freddy looked down at the guard bitterly. He had gotten cocky, played with the prey for too long, and Freddy wasn’t a cheater. He hated it, but he had screwed up, and because of their rules, the guard was allowed to live for another day.

He turned and left the man to sputter on the floor. _Next week won’t be so easy._

\- - - - -

Chris had been fully prepared to clean up Mike’s guts and blood. He had the number for the extra cleaning crew at the ready to dispose of the body and a fully stocked set of bleach in the supply closet. He ignored the throb in his heart when he didn’t find the kid outside on the sidewalk, because he knew it had been inevitable to not survive Friday.

So he was more than shocked when he found the backroom empty of a corpse.

And his heart soared. “Mike!” he shouted, screamed, as he bolted towards the office. “Mike!”

He found the teen on the floor, barely breathing and on his side. He could see blood on Mike's shirt. Breathing, however, meant life, and Chris couldn’t stop himself from dropping to his knees by Mike’s side to shake him. “Mike! Kid, are you okay?”

Mike gave a low groan. “’urts,” he whined, pained.

Then Chris saw Mike’s neck, the display of dark red and blossoming colors that shouldn't be on human skin. “Holy fucking shit,” he breathed, horrified. “They went straight for your throat?”

His blue eyes were teary, his cheek wet. “Freddy,” Mike rasped.

The kid had survived five nights in this hellhole. He had nearly gotten his neck broken by a homicidal, robot bear, but he was a-fucking-live Chris had no idea whether to laugh or scream, because he wanted to both and keep his mind at the same time.

So he just started crying. “You fucking druggie,” he laughed softly, hunched over the teen like he was desperately praying. “You amazing little druggie.”

Mike gave a small cough. “’m not a druggie.”

Chris really laughed then, choppy and strained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come. We're like a quarter into this story. There's still much more to do :)
> 
> Also I know the difference between a mouse and a rat, it's just that it doesn't matter to Chris and ML. It's just a rodent to them, so they call it a rat even if it's a mouse. The building's infected with both, anyway.
> 
> Hey, if you want to ask me stuff, like about this AU or other story ideas, maybe visit my tumblr. I'm pretty open about anything. https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ofshippingandpancakes
> 
> FYI: It's been marked explicit (haven't found out why) and I sent something in about it months ago, but it hasn't been fixed even though it was just a little stub back then and could have been a not even five minute look-over (still is) :/


	9. The Rule

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The animatronics deal with the aftermath of Freddy's failure to kill the night guard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small apology for being late on uploading, a little more plot, and some insight :)

“Ye let him live?!”

“I had to, Foxy.”

“Why?! Ye had him, I know ye did! He was right fuckin’ there!”

“Foxy, please, just…”

“Shut up, Bonnie! I know ye don’ get why I’m so pissed about him livin’, but don’ lie ta me that ye aren’ furious right now!”

“Hey, don’t yell at him!”

“Well, ye’re not helpin’ by yellin’ at me, Chica!”

“Alright, that’s enough.”

“Yeah, ye’ve done enough, haven’ ye?”

“We made these rules, Foxy, and we have to follow them.”

“He was right fuckin’ there!”

“It doesn’t matter if he was. He survived until six, that was the rule and we all agreed on that.”

“I don’ care about to stupid fuckin’ rule anymore! I want that bastard gone!”

“I know you’re upset…”

“Of course I am, and ye’re not helpin’!”

“Foxy, please stop.”

“Bonnie’s already upset from earlier yesterday, stop yelling. Just stop, it’s over. The guy’s gone for the weekend.”

"But not forever, Chica.”

“We’ll get him next week, Foxy, just please stop yelling.”

“We could have gotten him tonight.”

“I know we could have, and I accept full blame for not killing him, but Bonnie and Chica don’t need you yelling. It’s my fault he got away; I failed. We’ll just have to get him next week.”

“And that’ll turn into the last guy.”

“Enough of your attitude! I know he upsets you–!"

“Ye have no idea how I feel!”

“You know I do, but I can’t help that!”

“Ye could’ve helped tonight and ye didn’ because of that stupid rule!”

“Bonnie, come back, it’s almost time to open!”

“I can’t listen to him anymore! I’m so tired of this!”

“Foxy, you stupid–!”

“Chica, don’t, he’s just angry.”

“I’m right fuckin’ here!”

“Yeah, I hear you.”

"Chica.”

“I could hear ye bangin’ pots around the whole night.”

“Foxy, enough. Go back to the Cove.”

“That’s all ye can think ta do with me, huh? Would’ve been easier ta let the manager get rid of–.”

“Finish that sentence and you won’t be leaving the Cove at all next week.”

“Like ye’ll stop me.”

“You know I will. You need to stop. Go cool down and come out when you’re ready to apologize for making Bonnie cry.”

“It’s not–! I didn’–! Fuckin’ fine! Whatever ye say, Freddy, because ye’re the leader!”

“I’m not… No, I’m not doing this. Go to the Cove, Foxy.”

“…Couldn’t you have broken that rule for once, Freddy?”

“We aren’t cheaters, Chica. We’re better than that.”

“But…”

“Enough. We may not have gotten the night guard, but we have the weekend to ourselves. You and Bonnie never broke your tie with that little board game of yours. You had to put it on hold this week. Maybe one of you could break it tonight?”

“Maybe.”

“…He’ll calm down, Chica. You know how hard it is for Foxy to see someone that looks like Michael. It’s my fault that I didn’t get him, and I take full responsibility for that.”

“Can we let it go for now, please?”

“Of course. Why don’t you get back up on stage? I’ll go get Bonnie.”

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come.


	10. Decisions, Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris is reminded of the elephant in the room, Logan arrives with tea and some important questions, and Mike must make choices that will change the course of his entire future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, still lazy and tired, but I got a new mouse! :D (actually it's an old one I dug up but it works like it's semi-new)
> 
> You know when you want to write and have the ideas, but the moment you type in a word you're just so done and then open another document to start something else and do the same thing? Yeah, I've always had that kind of trouble. So I've just been putting on a certain theme from Deltarune to hype me up, so what you're reading had the background music of a mad bastard.
> 
> Hey, I made some small edits. Still not that pleased, but it's not a trainwreck now. I was literally so bothered by how this came out I couldn't study peacefully without thinking about it.

The kid was asleep, had been for at least a half hour, but Chris couldn’t help but keep glancing over to make sure Mike was still breathing.

After letting himself break for a moment of relief, Chris had sobered himself and tended to Mike. He had gotten the kid on his feet, but Chris was the one doing most of the walking. Mike was barely conscious, the exhaustion of the night and the fight he had undoubtedly put up having taken the energy out of him. Chris walked him out, arm around the small shoulders.

He made sure to flip Freddy off on the way out.

Mike had drifted in and out during the ride. Chris wanted to take the kid to the hospital, he really did, but how could he even begin to explain the bruises? It would only make Chris look suspicious. He didn’t want to even think about the company. So Chris just gritted his teeth and pushed the hospital out of his mind, hoping that something in Mike’s neck wasn’t fatally hit and that an ice-pack would do.

The kid could barely speak, his only responses after a certain point being small grunts and groans. Chris tried to keep him awake; he talked and questioned, but a response was a fifty-fifty chance. The janitor finally switched on the radio in an attempt to keep Mike from passing out in the truck.

Chris wasn’t sure if Mike was conscious enough to realize that they weren’t at the death trap of an apartment building and instead at Chris’s much safer one. The teen had let out a small hum, looked at the building with confused, tired eyes, but said nothing as he was led inside.

The apartment layout wasn’t too different from Mike’s, but it was certainly safer. The walls were a pale green, not too nasty of a color for Chris to do anything about, and the carpet was a clean cream. The living room was set up with a recliner, a couch, a coffee table, and a small TV. The kitchen was to the left, carpet turning into tile.

Chris had sat Mike down on the couch. The teen had curled up, nuzzled the pillow. It made him look younger than he already was. Chris had realized that it made him feel a lot worse about Mike’s situation.

He had gone down the small hall and grabbed a blanket from the spare bedroom that branched to the side. Chris had wanted to get Mike into the spare room, the spare bed being much more comfortable than the couch, but the boy had fallen asleep within the seconds it had taken to get the blanket. The man just draped it over Mike instead of trying to wake him up. He had gotten an ice-pack from the freezer, wrapped it in a towel, and set it on Mike’s neck, earning a violent shudder, but nothing more.

Now, a half hour later, Chris was sitting with his head in his hands and Mike still fast asleep beside him.

Mike would need a scarf to cover the bruises. Chris tried to ignore how human they looked, how it looked like it had been a human and not a children’s robot, but the reality wouldn’t be swayed by his mental pleading. He could picture it, those murderous, mechanical hands wrapped around Mike’s throat, the teen kicking and choking as he struggled to survive.

Chris had had no hope of Mike surviving the night. He had condemned the kid like he had for everyone else, unwilling to give Mike a chance. It had been to avoid the pain, the failure of letting another person die; a child. Chris had accepted what he believed was coming, ignoring anything that whispered to him that Mike could survive.

But tending to Mike’s neck was just as bad as the possibility of cleaning up his guts.

The boy shifted in his sleep. Chris caught it from the corner of his eye and stiffened, relaxing when he realized that Mike had just twitched.

The man sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He had gotten incredibly attached to this random kid within a week for no reason whatsoever. Maybe it was because Logan had ordered him to be nice, maybe it was because of how sad and puppy-like those blue eyes were, but Chris knew that there was no way he’d ever be able to go back into his normal life of being a complete, uncaring prick.

He stood. He would have to choose between beer and coffee, but he certainly had to call Logan. The manager was probably up already; probably had been up all night. How could a father sleep knowing that they had sent a child to their death? Chris could see Logan now, sitting in his dining room with a mug of coffee and watching the clock.

But Chris didn’t move. Instead he looked at Mike, curious. How the hell did the kid have that mop of hair after getting half his head bitten off? It was real, Chris knew, but still; how?

The man crept to Mike’s side and dropped into a smooth crouch. His heart clenched when he saw the kid’s face, peaceful and sunken. Chris stared at him for a moment, amazed that this teenager, this child, had survived an entire week at that deathtrap. He reached out a hesitant hand, touching the black locks. Mike’s hair was incredibly soft, but limp. Chris was careful, maneuvering his fingers to move aside the strands of hair that hung close to Mike’s eyes.

The scar was there. It was a curve, a smile, dark and slightly jagged. It ran through Mike’s roots, dipping above the hair that hung in front of it. Its color was faded, nine years having done its best to hide the damage.

Chris withdrew his hand. _I need a beer._

\- - - - -

“…ing him tea? Really?”

“It’ll help his throat. Do you think he likes honey?”

“Fuck if I know, Logan.”

“He said he doesn’t have any allergies, but…”

“Fucking–! Just give it to him plain and let him decide.”

Mike let out a small groan at the noises dragging him out of sleep, and then the groan became a whine. His throat was killing him; it was throbbing and burning. Something was against it, cold and firm. He forced his heavy eyes open, finding a ceiling that wasn’t his and smelling coffee.

“Mike?” Logan’s voice called. The teen turned as best as he could with his neck, finding his boss in the kitchen with Chris. The man’s face was the picture of relief. “You alright, sport?”

The teen looked around for a minute, confused, before answering, “Yeah,” in a quiet, wrecked voice.

Logan left the kitchen, a mug in hand. He went over to Mike and sat down on the couch, setting the cup on the table. “Chris told me what happened,” he said. He looked ashamed. “Petunia sent over some tea for your throat. It’s chamomile.”

Mike could smell it. It was a pleasant aroma; new. Tea wasn’t something he had labeled as a necessity to have, nor was coffee. He had read the labels on different teas and what they could help with, but Mike wasn’t one to spend money on flavored drinks.

“Let me guess, you’ve never had it?” Chris said from the kitchen. “Good. It tastes like cough medicine.”

“It does not,” Logan retorted from his spot.

“Whatever. It’s the kid’s loss at this point.”

Logan rolled his eyes, then looked at Mike again. “You should try a sip. Just let it cool first.”

Mike rubbed his eyes. “Where am I?” he asked.

“My place,” Chris answered after a moment. He was coming from the kitchen with a mug of coffee. It was green. “You were really out of it, so I’m not surprised you don’t remember.”

There were bits and pieces, but the image of Freddy getting into the office flashed past his eyes, and Mike found himself gripping the blanket. “I thought I was going to die,” he said before he could stop himself. His neck was throbbing.

Chris’s jaw clenched. Logan’s eyes were suddenly shiny. “I know, Mike,” the manager said quietly. “I know.”

A minute passed. Mike could hear cars going by; it must have been late morning. Mike sat up, the cold weight and towel falling away. Chris and Logan took in sharp breaths. Mike's hand went up to his throat, the puffiness firm beneath his fingers.

Logan handed him the ice pack and towel. "Try and keep that on, sport," he whispered, voice tight. "It'll help the swelling stay down."

Mike took them back carefully. "How bad?" he asked.

"Bad," Chris responded instantly. The bruising was beginning to turn blue and purple. He was amazed that the kid could even talk. "Keep the ice pack on it. It's fresh from the freezer."

Mike felt thirsty. He reached for the tea after a moment, throat dry, the handle smooth against his fingers. He blew on it, then took a sip. There wasn't much in the mug; Logan had probably feared that he wouldn't like it.

Logan cleared his throat. “How is it?” he asked. He still looked upset.

It was still pretty hot, but… “It’s good,” the teen responded. It irritated his throat a little, but it also tasted and felt nice.

“Don’t expect to find any more here,” Chris said. He had settled into the armchair. “I don’t drink that shit.”

“Okay.”

Chris looked at him, suddenly mortified. Mike blinked. The janitor then sobered his face. “I’m joking,” he said. “If you want tea, I’ll get it for you.”

The raven-haired teen gave a tiny nod. “Okay.” He wasn’t sure what he should say to that.

They lapsed into the quiet again. Mike felt self-conscious at the sound of him sipping his tea despite Chris doing the same with his coffee.

“Mike,” Logan said after a moment. The younger looked at him. “There’s some things I need to ask you.”

“It’s not company stuff,” Chris chimed in. “Logan called them about last night, though. You’re getting a bunch of free pizza coupons probably around Sunday.”

“Not like it matters,” Logan said. Mike suddenly remembered what Logan had said during the interview. The blond turned to him. “Do you want me to get rid of Foxy?”

Mike choked on his drink. He coughed and sputtered, his throat aching. Logan’s hand was on his back, patting it firmly and with rhythm. Mike wiped his watering eyes and coughed, “What?” It was such a sudden question; Mike believed he hadn't heard it right.

“I couldn’t get rid of Foxy when I took over because Caitlyn loved him when she was a baby. We went there until ’87.” He ran a hand through his hair. “And when I found out what was happening, I tried to get rid of him first, but the clipboard with his information kept disappearing and the animatronics would only get more aggressive towards the guards, so I stopped trying. I don’t know who kept taking the papers and why the animatronics kept getting worse, but I had to stop.”

Mike knew exactly who had taken the clipboard, and he certainly knew why the animatronics got worse on those nights.

“But now that you’re here, we can scrap him without having to wait for anything,” Logan said.

“Why?” Mike asked, confused and conflicted.

“Because the company doesn’t want you to sue them,” Chris cut in. He looked irritated. “And before you say that you won’t, they don’t care. They’re more scared of lawsuits than anything else.”

“But…” Then how would that help him with the animatronics? They would only get worse. And Mike didn't have any idea on how to even begin filing a lawsuit.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Logan chimed into his thoughts. “But if I get rid of Foxy, then I can put in a request to get rid of the rest of them. They’re willing to anything in range to keep this from getting out, especially now that you’re here.”

“Basically you can overhaul everything,” Chris summarized. “They’ll drag their feet, but they’ll do it.”

Mike swallowed. “I…” His hands were gripping the mug, the heat digging into his skin. “I can’t.”

Chris gaped. “Mike–.”

“I used to play with them when I was little,” Mike said. “Foxy was my friend.”

“Friend?!” Chris echoed, snarling. Mike’s eyes widened. He hadn’t meant to say friend. “Mike, it’s a robot! A fucking killer robot, while we’re on the topic! That thing’s programming has been fucked since the beginning, it needs to go!”

“I can’t,” Mike repeated, desperate. Even after what Foxy did to him, he couldn’t get rid of his first friend.

“Chris,” Logan said carefully. “Just relax.”

“Like hell I will!” Chris roared. He was furious, eyes blazing and jaw clenched. “He wants to keep that thing around because of what; nostalgia? That thing has killed how many people again?! I’ve seen what that thing’s done to guards; it rips them to fucking shreds!”

Mike was quivering. His throat was tight and his eyes were stinging. He had a death grip on the mug, the porcelain under his fingers thinking of cracking. He could picture it, Foxy’s teeth and hook ripping and tearing through flesh.

“Chris, calm down,” Logan snipped, voice firm. “It’s Mike decision.”

“And he wants to keep it!” Chris bolted from his chair.“Do we need to remember that the thing tore through his head like a hot knife with butter? Apparently Mike doesn’t remember that or the brain damage just cut that part out!”

A rush went through Mike’s hands. The mug shattered beneath his grip, pieces of glazed black scratching against his hands and droplets tea sprinkling against his bandages.

Both men jumped. “Mike!” they both shouted, almost in unison.

Tears ran down Mike’s cheeks, the teen sniffling and shaking. His face was scrunched up in an attempt to stop himself from crying, face red. His throat was being squeezed by the bruises, his hands shaking.

“Shit.” Chris got up. “Logan, get the broom. It’s in my closet down the hall.”

Logan looked at him for a minute, unsure whether or not to leave Mike with Chris, but nodded and stood. Chris took his place, swiftly stripping away the bandages he had put on Mike the day before. Some glass had cut through them.

“Fucking hell, Mike,” Chris muttered, tossing one bunch on the ground. Mike’s right hand was bleeding.

Mike whimpered. “I’m sorry.” He took in a short, shaky breath. “I’ll clean it up.”

“Like hell you will,” the man said. He undid the other set. “Breathe, kid.”

“I can’t get rid of Foxy,” Mike cried. “He was always there, he was my friend.” The tears came faster. “I ruined everything.”

Chris had no idea what Mike was going on about, but it sent a chill up his spine or some reason. He had no idea why Mike was so attached to a murderous kid’s robot or why he would want to keep the thing around now that it was a direct threat to him, but Chris got the feeling again; something was deeper here. There was something Mike was holding back, but for what reason? Had the company threatened him before somehow after the Bite, or was it something else?

But instead of asking, Chris just took in a breath and said, “I’m sorry.”

The teary blue eyes peeked up at him through the black strands that hung in front of his face. At least Chris had his attention.

“I shouldn’t have ever said that,” Chris continued, honest. “I didn’t mean it. I say shit I don’t mean all the time and that was way out of line.”

Mike sniffled. “But… It’s not a lie.”

Chris mentally kicked himself. Great, just what he wanted to do; make Mike feel like shit about himself and something that wasn’t his fault. “It’s not true,” the janitor said, a little too loud, like it could help convince Mike. “Mike, you were what; nine?”

“Eight,” the teen murmured.

 _He’s pretty good at making me feel shitty without trying._ “Exactly. You were just a little kid when the thing malfunctioned and you happened to be there. It’s not your fault what it did to you.”

The sting in his hands was a quiet hum. “I got in the way,” Mike whispered. He didn’t want to talk about this, about the day that he screwed it up for everyone.

“Mike, when I was eight, I was hiding in trees and throwing nuts at people. That’s something purposeful. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time; that’s not your fault. You didn’t throw yourself into Foxy’s mouth, right?”

Mike lifted his head. “No, but–!”

“Then you didn’t do anything on purpose,” Chris cut him off. “You happened to be there, and you got fucked over because of shitty programming and shitty staff.”

“You don’t understand!” Mike wailed, voice cracking and desperate. His throat constricted.

“Then explain it to me, Mike!” the man exclaimed, eyes burning. “Tell me what I don’t understand so we can fucking help you! We can’t do anything unless you say something!”

And what the _fuck_ could Mike say to that? He wilted like a pitiful flower, his head hung and eyes low. Chris would never believe him about the animatronics, and Logan would probably just nod and pat his head. And despite everything that the animatronics had done to him over the past week, Mike couldn’t bring himself to reveal their secret.

_“Our secret.”_

So Mike said nothing.

There was a pause. Then there was warmth.

Hugs were something Mike had viewed as a luxury as he grew up. The lack of love and care from Mama and Sir left him craving any form of touch that didn’t leave bruises or make him cry. If anyone hugged him, even if just for a moment, Mike would caught between wanting to cling to whoever was touching him or to break down into tears. The memories of his cheek against fluffy chests, the smell of pizza and oil in his nose, and the quick hugs from his old friends were locked away, rarely viewed and thought of.

So Chris’s arm wrapping around his shoulders and tugging him to the side made Mike freeze.

He could smell coffee and cigarette smoke, an underlying lace of pine wrapped around it like a bow. Chris’s heart was steady, quiet _thumps_ beating under a strong chest. The janitor’s shirt was wrinkled, cool against Mike’s cheek.

“Sorry,” Chris mumbled. His voice was a low rumble, the vibrations running through his chest and against Mike’s face.

Hugs came from loving people. Hugs were gifts of love, warmth, and care. Hugs were things that were natural to others and alien to people like Mike.

Mike didn’t know what to feel. He felt trapped, a good and bad trapped. He felt oversensitive, the feel of another person’s gentle touch overwhelming his brain. He felt scared and vulnerable, but he felt so overjoyed and grateful that someone was actually touching him because they _cared_ and not because they wanted to hurt him.

He was still shaking.

Footsteps. Chris shifted. “Took you long enough. My closet’s not that much of a mess.”

“I had to find your first aid.” Logan came from the short hallway and stopped, eyes locked onto Mike and Chris.

“Shut it, Logan,” Chris snipped.

Logan understood. He rounded the couch with the dustpan and broom, regarding Mike fondly. “I’m sorry, Mike. I’m not good at bringing things up at the right time.”

Mike swallowed. Chris was still hugging him. “It’s fine,” he rasped. He fought from pulling his hand back when Logan grasped it. “Was there something else you needed to ask?”

The blond bit his lip, conflicted. “Yes,” he said slowly. “But it can wait.”

But Mike just wanted it out of the way. “Is it about my job?”

Logan sighed. He dropped into a crouch to sweep up the mess. “Yes,” he answered. “I’ve found a few job listings, ones that are just right for you. No animatronics, reasonable hours, and close by.”

Mike looked at him, surprised. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said quietly.

“I wanted to find you something safer,” the man told him. Most of the mug was in the dustpan now. “I brought over your paycheck and signed it, so you already have your week’s pay. Chris or I can drive you to any jobs you pick out, so you don’t have to worry about transportation.”

“Wait!” the teen squeaked. “You’re firing me?”

“That’s your first thought?” Chris asked, his face the picture of disbelief. “Kid, he’s saving your life.”

“But I got through the week!”

“Mike, I’m not firing you,” Logan jumped in. He looked horribly confused. “I’m trying to find you a safer job, why are you upset?”

Mike was caught between feeling touched and annoyance. “Because I survived!” he exclaimed, ignoring his throat. “I can handle myself there now that I know what they do.”

“Mike, you nearly died last night,” Chris pointed out.

“Because I didn’t know,” Mike responded. He looked at Logan. “I know their patterns and how they act. It’s better to keep me in instead of finding someone else.”

Logan was pale. “Mike–.”

“I can do it,” the teen insisted.

“For how long until they catch you?” the janitor chimed in, face conflicted.

Mike was amazed that Chris was still holding him. “Until.” He felt like a jerk for saying that, but it was true. He looked up at the man. “I have to.”

“I don’t like the idea of you doing this as some kind of sacrifice to protect another ass,” Chris said, hazel eyes tired.

“It’s not just that,” Mike said. “But I’ll get better with practice.”

Chris snorted, but said nothing. Logan looked sick. “You don’t have to do this.”

Mike eyes were firm despite their glassy coat. Logan couldn’t help but look away from them. He shouldn’t be doing this, letting a boy take on such a dangerous job, but what else could he say? He didn’t want to watch Mike die, but he didn’t want anyone else to die either. The blond ran his hands through his hair, chest painfully tight.

“…Alright,” he finally said.

Mike felt relieved despite the circumstances. “Thanks,” he said.

Logan looked down at the mug shards. “How did you do that, by the way?” he asked, desperate to get off the subject.

“He didn’t tell you?” Chris raised a brow. “Apparently Mike’s got super strength. He’s stronger than he looks.”

Mike blushed. “I mean, it was just a mug.”

“And my door lock,” Chris said.

Logan’s head whipped up, brown eyes wide. “Wait, what?”

“Long story short, I said some shit and Mike kicked my locked door open,” the janitor explained.

Logan gave Mike a worried look. “Mike, you’re a nice boy and all, but you’re not taking anything, are you?”

Mike’s face scrunched with indignation. “No!”

Chris raised his free hand. “I’ll vouch. His druggie neighbor came by and cleared that up.”

“Oh.” Logan gave Mike a warm smile. “Sorry, sport.”

The teen crossed his arms, then yelped. He brought his hands back. Blood had mostly crusted over the small cuts, but they stung like paper-cuts soaked in lemonade.

Chris’s arm finally left him. “Dammit, Mike,” he grunted. He took the two small palms in his callused hands, careful not to irritate the cuts. “You’re a damn accident prone.”

Mike almost had whiplash from how fast Chris’s warmth left him, but he held himself back from saying anything. Instead he gave a small sound of displeasure.

“Yeah, yeah, you and your biting addiction,” Chris muttered.

Logan caught a glimpse of the bite marks on the pale hands. “Oh my!”

Mike ducked his head. “Thanks, Chris,” he grumbled.

"Mike," Logan began, shocked. "I didn't-."

"It took me a few days to notice, too," Chris cut in. "He gets nervous and shit."

The chocolate eyes widened, sparked with an idea. "Rosie chews on her shirt collars when she's upset. When she does that, we give her a teething ring and something to do with her hands."

Chris and Mike looked at him incredulously. "A teething ring?" Chris repeated. "Please tell me you're not suggesting that for Mike. He's not that little of a kid."

"Not unless he's actually considering."

Mike's face was red. "Not really," he murmured. He felt vulnerable and naked with his hands displayed now. He wished he still had his old gloves.

"Well, then we need to find you something to do with your hands, at least," Logan said.

Chris reached and grabbed the gauze from the table. "Like what, Logan? There's not much the kid can do with his hands on a dime."

Logan scratched his cheek, contemplating. Mike cautiously allowed Chris to re-bandage his hands, eyeing Logan from the side. He just didn't understand why people like them wanted to help someone like him. Logan was a husband, a father of two, and managed a business despite the hell that stained it. Chris was a man who obviously didn't waste his time on people in general, but here he was bandaging Mike's hands and picking up breakfast for Mike. The two men were starkly different and nothing alike, and the only reason they were even breathing the same air was because of their positions, but they were still working together; still here, wanting to help.

And Mike just didn't get it.

Logan suddenly snapped his fingers, color and triumph lighting up his face. "Sewing!" he crowed. "You can sew!"

Chris gave the older man a bored look. "You're joking."

"Chris," the blond said in a chastising tone. He crossed his arms. "Sewing is a skill that everyone should know. It's important, relaxing, and is the perfect way to spend free time." Excitement blew up on his face. "Mike could learn how sew, knit, crochet: think of the things that he could make!"

"Scarves and shit," Chris muttered, though there was no heat in his voice. He actually sounded like he was considering the idea.

Logan turned to Mike. The teen looked confused. "You're a creative boy, Mike, I'm sure you'd have fun with it!"

Mike stared at his feet for a moment. He had sewn his clothes before, but all he had was some old needles and old thread. He didn't have anything proper to do it with to make it a hobby. "I don't have the things to do that," he said, deflated.

"Petunia does," Logan replied, smiling. "She'd love to teach you."

Mike nibbled his bottom lip. He wasn't used to this; no one had ever offered this kind of help to him before, not even the shelter. A part of him was eager, wanting to accept the offer and possibility of doing something useful, but the other was scared, scared that he would be wasting Petunia's time.

"Really?" Mike whispered after a moment, feeling foolishly hopeful.

"Of course," the blond said. "Why don't you come over later when you feel a little better? I did promise you dinner."

Right, dinner. Against his forced instincts, Mike nodded and said, "Okay."

"Good," Logan chirped, satisfied. At least Mike would have something else to focus on other than his hands. It would be tough, the habits obviously having been built over the years, but Logan was a patient man.

Chris cut the excess gauze away. Mike startled. "If it helps with this, whatever," the man said, gesturing to Mike's hands. He got up. "I'm getting some more coffee. You want to good shit, kid?"

"I'm fine," the teen said quietly, still distracted.

"He needs more rest anyway," Logan said to Chris. "You could make him some more tea."

Chris rolled his eyes. "Ugh, fine. Only because he likes it."

Logan chuckled. He looked back at Mike, the teen sitting on the couch like a little bird, and remembered just why he was doing this. Seeing a boy like Mike, anxious enough to bite his own hands and eyes that reflected the world, those bruises on his neck, reminded him of just why he had taken the job as the pizzeria manager. Logan had wanted to bring the place back to life, a place where kids could play and feel safe again, and even with the animatronics and their horrific glitches, he still wanted to do that. Kids like Mike didn't have a safe place to go or someone to turn to. Why else would Mike be living on his own, why he had so surely answered that he didn't have any family? Logan knew that Mike was hiding something, something much darker, but he wanted Mike to feel safe enough for him to say anything on his own time. For now, all they could do was be patient.

He walked over to Mike and leaned against the couch. "If you ever need anything, just call me or Chris, okay?"

Mike looked up, eyes wide and reflecting. "...Okay."

It was almost instinct to do it; Logan found his hand in Mike's hair, ruffling the dull, fluffy locks.

Mike stiffened, just for a moment, and then smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come.
> 
> I was planning for Mike to do something along those lines anyway, so I guess this was the right time to introduce it. Still rearranging stuff around though - and studying/wasting away. (I actually crochet and I want to finish a scarf I was making: curse you, adult stuff!)
> 
> Regarding Caitlyn, she's around 9-10, so she would have been a baby when she met Foxy. Logan's like 28-29. FYI: I'm terrible at even the most simple math problems (doesn't help that the education system is awful and my teachers spent their time ridiculing my mistakes, so I constantly second-guess myself) so if there's any incorrect math, please correct me.
> 
> Also, buck season. Good luck to anyone going for one, because doe seem to sense the shift of our laws.


	11. The Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a few hours of rest, Mike is invited to dinner as promised. Of course, having never eaten with a family, Mike needs a little help. Afterwards, Mike is given a taste of his lost childhood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can walk again! (Ish because I need my boot for another day or so but I can walk!)
> 
> Thank you all for being so patient with me! A forced break was something that completely threw me off of my writing schedule, but it was surprisingly good for me. I've been able to put together some of the future chapters by writing ahead and solidify some things. The upcoming week for Mike, however, is going to be a pain to write. Hopefully I'll be able to work with what I have to keep things interesting.
> 
> But I'm getting back into the swing of things! Enjoy!

Petunia was much taller than Mike remembered. At least, he thought she was. Still, she towered over him when she opened the door to the house. The smell of roses came with her again. Her hair was tied back into a low bun, strands of red escaping in an almost elegant fashion.

“Mike!” She smiled warmly. “I’m so glad you could come!”

Mike tried to smile, but his cheeks heated up too fast for him to hold it. He turned his face towards the ground, chest tight and stomach fluttering.

Petunia just chuckled. “Sweet boy.” She turned back. “Girls, daddy’s home, and Mike and Chris are here!”

The rapid pitter-pattering made Mike’s legs weak. Chris just let out a sigh and stretched his arms. Logan was smiling brightly at his wife.

Mike had spent most of the day sleeping in Chris’s spare bedroom. The janitor had insisted, practically shoving Mike towards the room. Chris wouldn’t let him go back to his apartment, not trusting the teenager to be fine on his own; and certainly not wanting Mike to be in that death trap. Logan had a smug grin on his face the entire time, triumphant.

Chris’s spare bedroom had once held a roommate who had moved out months ago, leaving most of the furniture on his way out. A bed was made neatly, the smell of fresh laundry giving away that it was a recent job. Some spare junk had been moved aside to a corner; stacked as boxes. A nightstand looked strangely shiny next to the bed, the lamp as well.

The fact that Chris had spent time to make a room habitable for Mike to sleep in had the teen mentally reeling.

Chris had given Mike a look when the teen said nothing. “What?” he asked.

Mike bit his lip. “Wasn’t this someone else’s?” He felt strange about using thing that weren’t his.

The man rolled his eyes. “My old roommate hated the mattress and since he lost the receipt for it, he couldn’t return it. He’s been gone for months anyway. Who cares?”

It was an incredible offer, to sleep in a bed free from a threat of being infested with something, but Mike still wasn’t sure. “But…”

“Just sleep in the goddamn bed, Mike.”

The bed had been soft, the sheets fresh. It had been so comfortable that Mike fallen asleep within minutes, the cool towel on his neck soothing his throat enough for him to rest.

Hours later, when the sun was lower and the skies were turning gold, Mike had woken up hungry. He had gone out to the living room just in time, Logan holding his phone by the kitchen and Chris drinking coffee in the recliner.

“Mike!” Logan had chirped. “Perfect timing, sport, I was just about to call Petunia about dinner.” He looked at Mike’s neck, frowning. “How’s your neck?”

Mike shrugged. “Fine.” It was pretty sore, but aside from that it didn’t really hurt. It was weird, especially since he had been held in a robotic death grip, but the pain wasn’t too much. It must have looked worse than it felt, because Chris’s face was strangely somber.

Logan didn’t look entirely convinced, but didn’t press. “Do you want to come over for dinner tonight? I can bring some over if you’re not feeling good.”

Mike wasn’t entirely sure why he said yes to dinner despite his stomach twisting itself into knots, but he did indeed say yes. Logan's proud expression made Mike feel strangely good about his choice, but only a little. After Chris handed Mike a scarf to cover up the damage to his neck, they left.

The ride over was split between the three of them. Mike rode with Chris, the man also having been invited. Logan led the way, but apparently Chris already know the way to the other man’s house.

“I’ve had dinner there a few times,” Chris had explained. “Petunia made me promise to come for dinner at least once a week. She doesn’t think I eat healthy enough.”

Mike had given him a cautious glance. “Do you?”

“No.”

Now at the doorstep, Mike was rethinking his choice to come.

Rosie and Caitlyn flooded past their mother’s legs. “Daddy!” they both cried.

Logan looked like he had won the lottery, face bright. “There’s my beautiful girls!” He dropped into a crouch and caught them in a tight hug.

“We helped mama make dinner!” Rosie exclaimed.

Again, the title made Mike’s stomach twist.

“I’m sure it’ll be extra delicious,” Logan proclaimed.

The girls detached themselves from their father. Caitlyn went over to Chris and hugged him. Rosie, however, barreled into Mike’s leg. “Hi, Mike!” she squealed.

Mike almost stumbled at the sudden weight against his leg. Rosie was warm against him, her grip tight on his leg. He looked at Logan, confused, but the man just chuckled and smiled.

Just as quickly as she had come, Rosie let go of Mike and ran over to Chris. “Hi, Uncle Chris!” she exclaimed.

Chris reached down and picked her up. “Hey, Rosie,” he greeted. His voice wasn’t how it usually was, it was…affectionate. Chris was even smiling, just a little. “What’s on the menu tonight, flower girl?”

“Sweet potatoes and cassy-role!” Rosie threw up her hands. “We helped mama make everything!”

“I’ve been looking forward to it. I’m starving.” He looked at Petunia. “Hey, Petunia.”

Petunia smiled at him. “Chris, I’m so glad that you made it. Rosie’s been waiting all week to give you some gifts she made at school.”

The janitor gave Rosie a fond look. “It’s not my birthday yet, Rosie.”

“I know!” the redhead exclaimed. “I just wanted to make you presents!”

Chris winced at her voice. “Alright, alright, tone it down, flower girl. Any louder and you’re going to blow my ears out.” He pulled her off and set her down on the ground. “Lead the way.”

The girls moved past Petunia’s legs again. The woman turned and followed them in, Logan doing the same. Chris let out a yawn, then caught Mike’s eyes. The teen was staring at him, jaw dropped and face colored with as much surprise as one could ever have.

Chris snorted. “What? I said I come here often.” He walked through the door. “Come on, Mike.”

The raven-head sputtered for a minute, still trying to process what had just happened, before finally moving into the house.

The wallpaper was a bright apricot orange, white lines cutting through the color. The floor was wooden and shiny. The dining room was visible from the entrance, a table set with plates and a vase of flowers settled on top of it. There was an opening off to the left of the dining room, presumably the kitchen, and a stairway on the right end of the room. The living room could be seen through the dining room, a sliding glass door near the couch leading to the backyard. A dog door was next to it.

A golden retriever slipped through the dog door. It wore a bright green collar, its fur fluffy and shiny. It shot through everyone’s legs, barking and jumping excitedly.

“Easy, Buddy!” Logan got out over the barking. He reached and scratched the dog’s side. “It’s just me!”

Buddy accepted the scratches, tail wagging almost violently. He then slipped away from Logan over to Chris. The janitor smiled and patted the retriever’s head, giving him a small scratch behind the ears.

Then Buddy turned to Mike, yapping as he frolicked over.

“Mike, this is Buddy, but-!” Petunia looked panicked. “I completely forgot to ask if you were allergic to dogs!”

Buddy hopped onto his hind legs, his paws resting against Mike’s chest. Mike grinned widely, bringing up his hands to scratch and pet the dog. Giggles burst from his chest when Buddy began licking at his face.

Chris stared for a moment, then snorted and turned to Petunia. “I think that’s a no.”

Petunia let out a relieved sigh. “I would have had a heart attack if he was allergic.”

Logan shifted. “I should have mentioned that he doesn’t have any allergies.”

The basil eyes sent him a look sharp enough to cut glass. Logan let out a giddy chuckle.

Rosie grabbed onto Chris’s hand. “I wanna give you my gifts!”

Chris gave a salute to Logan and Petunia as Rosie dragged him up the stairway. Logan turned his attention back to Mike. Buddy was sitting now, enjoying Mike’s scratches to the backs of his ears. “You ready to eat, Mike?” he asked.

The teen startled, like he had forgotten why he was there. Mike gave a sheepish smile. “I guess,” he said.

“Sweet!” Caitlyn hopped over to the chair at the one end of the table and pulled herself onto it. “Rosie, hurry up!”

“Wait!” the younger shouted back down. “Don’t eat without me and Uncle Chris!”

Petunia shook her head, amused, and then went to pull out a seat. “Rosie likes sitting at the other end, Mike. You can sit across from me or Logan.”

Mike nodded. He felt delighted when Buddy followed him to the table, the retriever trotting lazily. A disk sat in the middle of the table, presumably the casserole, and a plate of cut sweet potatoes sat next to it. On the other side of the casserole was a plate of cheese and rolls. A bowl of salad was also on the table.

Mike hesitated when he got to the two opposite chairs, then sat across from Petunia. His heart sank a bit when Buddy walked away, and he frowned visibly.

“He’ll come back,” Petunia said, catching Mike’s fallen expression. “Trust me.”

“He’ll steal food right off your plate if you’re not paying attention, so watch out,” Logan warned playfully. “He’s quick.”

“We can get the food ready while Rosie gives Chris his gifts. She likes to go into detail.” Petunia looked at Mike. “Mike, what would you like?”

And Mike froze. He felt just like he had the first time Chris had asked what he wanted to eat. His throat felt like Freddy was grabbing it again, legs weak despite being relieved of pressure. Mike didn’t know how this worked, how normal families ate together. He was used to nibbling on something just enough to get him by in his room, listening to Sir opening the fridge from time to time.

“You alright, Mike?” Logan asked, frowning. “Something wrong?”

Mike forced himself to tug on his sleeve instead of scratching his bandages. He swallowed, trying to retrieve his voice. “I’m, uh, not used to eating with other people.” He looked at his lap. “Everyone’s usually…not home.”

Caitlyn snorted. Mike felt his stomach drop and shrivel into nothing.

“Caitlyn!” Petunia snapped. Despite the scolding tone, she sounded just as pretty. “That was very rude.”

The blonde looked taken aback as much as a nine year-old could be. “Who doesn’t know how to eat with people? That’s just dumb.”

Logan glanced at Mike, frowning. The teen looked hurt, his cheeks red with embarrassment and eyes in his lap. Logan turned to his daughter. “Caitlyn,” he began, “how would you feel if none of your friends sat with you at lunch and you had to eat alone?”

Caitlyn made a face. “They wouldn’t do that!” she squawked.

“But, for a minute, imagine that they did,” Logan said. “You would be pretty hurt by that, wouldn’t you?”

The girl’s face was pulled into a hurt frown. “Yeah, but…”

“Now imagine you had to eat by yourself almost every day because your friends were too busy to sit with you.”

Mike gave a quick glance to Logan and Petunia. The two were looking at Caitlyn with firm expressions, but there was a certain warmth under their hard eyes. Caitlyn looked upset, like she was truly experiencing eating by herself.

“What if that was us?” Petunia asked. “What if you had to sit at the table every night by yourself because your daddy and I were still at work and Rosie was at a friend’s house?” She raised a brow. “Wouldn’t it feel strange eating with us after we were gone most of the time?”

Fear crossed Caitlyn’s face. “Yeah,” she said quietly.

“So now that you have that in mind, wouldn’t Mike feel just the same as you if you had to eat all alone?”

“…Yeah.”

Petunia nodded, satisfied. “Now that that’s settled, you need to apologize for Mike for being rude.”

Caitlyn looked at Mike. Her eyes were sad, face pulled with guilt. “I’m sorry, Mike,” she said, truthful.

Mike hadn’t been expecting anyone to say anything. No one had ever spoken up for him before, not like this. He should have known, logically, that Logan and Petunia would say something to their daughter, but it was still a big surprise. He swallowed, smiling weakly. “It’s okay.”

Rosie came puttering back in, Chris behind her. “I gave Uncle Chris his gifts!” she shouted.

Chris was holding a few scraps of paper in his hands, along with a popsicle stick covered in glitter. He moved by Logan and set them on the counter. “She made me a magic wand and some pictures of big dogs,” he said, walking around the table. “She’s an artist.”

Rosie scuttled into her chair and puffed out her chest, proud. “Uncle Chris said it’s the prettiest wand ever!”

Caitlyn huffed. “Rosie, I’m going to starve if you take any longer.”

The redhead stuck out her tongue. Caitlyn did the same. The two instantly stopped when Petunia gave them both a stern look.

“So we’ve got Petunia’s famous sweet potatoes and some fancy casserole,” Logan chirped. “The neighbors gave us their recipe for it. It’s from Mexico.”

“Like tacos!” Rosie proclaimed.

“Like tacos,” Logan agreed.

Chris sat next to Mike. He noticed that Mike seemed paler than usual, if that was even possible. “You alright?” he whispered. “You step on Buddy’s tail or something?”

Mike shook his head. He still felt mortified and horrible embarrassed. He had no idea how to eat with other people. Along with having no experience with what was supposed to be his family, eating with others was limited to having his food taken by his bullies and hiding behind the school dumpster with what he could get away with.

The slap of casserole on his plate nearly made him jump. Mike refocused on his plate. Chris had gotten him a scoop of casserole and some sweet potatoes. The teen saw that everyone had gotten some food. How long had he blanked for that time?

“Thanks,” Mike murmured to Chris.

“No problem. You want a roll?” Chris asked, already reaching for one. “Assuming you can finish what’s already on your plate.”

Petunia caught that. “What do you mean?” she asked. She looked at Mike. “Do you not feel good, Mike? I've noticed that your cheeks are a bit hollow, but...”

Mike once again felt frozen. Chris thankfully stepped in. “He doesn’t really have a solid eating schedule,” he said, sugarcoating in case the girls asked questions. “The only nutritious thing I’ve seen him it is the fast food pancakes I’ve been getting him for breakfast.”

The married couple looked shocked. Logan’s face was the picture of concern. “Mike, why didn’t you say anything? You know you can get free pizza from work, right?” That was at least something to eat.

The teen nibbled his lip. “It’s okay,” he said quietly. “I keep forgetting.”

“I’ll remember to get you some pizza soon,” Logan told him.

“And I’ll pack some leftovers,” Petunia chimed in. “A growing boy like you needs to eat healthy and regularly. If you’re ever hungry, just call us.”

Mike’s heart swelled. “Okay.”

“Just don’t overdo it, Mike,” Chris reminded. “You don’t want to be getting sick on good stuff like this.”

The raven-head nodded. “Yeah.” He looked back at his plate, stomach growling quietly. “Yeah.”

\- - - - -

Mike peeked into the kitchen. Dinner had ended a few minutes ago, the girls going into the living room with Logan and Chris. Petunia had gone into the kitchen to pack away the leftovers. She was at the counter, the sounds of plastic lids popping onto cases echoing slightly.

Mike swallowed. He felt that he should help clean up, but he didn’t entirely want to be alone with Petunia. Maybe it was because of what Mama used to do, but Mike was scared of Petunia despite her kindness. There was the strange underlying feeling of safety when he was with her despite her towering stature, and her eyes were warm and full instead of cold and empty. Then there was the obvious evidence that she didn’t hurt her children.

_But she could still hurt me._

Petunia turned, a container in hand. Her eyes widened slightly upon seeing Mike peering into the kitchen. “Mike,” she said. She was surprised how badly his sudden appearance had actually scared her. “Do you need something?”

The teen shifted. There wasn’t any going back now. “Do you need help cleaning up?”

The woman smiled. “That’s okay, Mike. Besides, I’m not in the mood to clean much right now anyway.” Petunia shut off the water. “But thank you for offering.”

Mike reached and tugged at his scarf. “Okay,” he said, at a loss for words.

Petunia looked at the scarf. “You’ve been wearing that all night,” she said. “Your neck isn’t that bad, is it? You must be roasting in here.”

The boy bit his lip and looked away. He was horribly hot, his jacket not helping, but he didn’t want Petunia and the girls to see the mess of bruises. “I’m okay.”

Petunia, however, wasn’t convinced. “Mike, I would like to see your neck, please.”

There was an order in her voice. Mike heard it. He instantly obeyed, loosening the scarf enough where the bruises were visible. He wanted to keep them covered, to refuse, but the instinct to obey and avoid punishment was too strong.

Petunia gasped. “Oh my!” She pattered next to Mike. “An animatronic did this?”

Mike tightened the scarf again. He had no idea how she figured that out. “It’s okay,” he said quickly.

The redhead gave a determined pout of her lips. “I’ll get you an ice pack. These bruises are really bad.” She reached and opened the freezer. “Logan said that you were hurt, but he didn’t say just how badly. I can’t imagine how you’re even talking.”

Mike scratched at his hands. “It’s fine,” he repeated quietly.

Petunia plucked an ice pack from the freezer and shut it. “Here,” she said, handing it to him. Mike took it hesitantly. “I didn’t know you were so hurt. I would have made you something easier for your throat if I had known your neck was this bad.”

A nerve quivered. “That’s okay,” Mike said quickly. He didn’t want Petunia spending extra time making him something else when she could be doing other things. He carefully loosened the scarf and put the pack against his neck. He shivered, but it felt incredible compared to the heat.

Petunia looked at him for a moment, thinking. Then she smiled. “How about some ice cream?”

Mike blinked, surprised. “Ice cream?” he repeated. He hadn’t had ice cream since…

“Sure!” Petunia turned and walked to the fridge. “We have chocolate, vanilla, and mint. We have plenty of chocolate syrup if you’d like some.”

Mike felt his heart jump. “Chocolate,” he said, a little too fast. He hadn’t tasted ice cream in years, but he remembered that chocolate had been his favorite. He suddenly felt mortified and added, “Please.”

“Alright,” Petunia said, opening the freezer door and grabbing the small tub. “We have sprinkles, too.” She chuckled. “Rosie refuses to eat ice cream if she doesn’t have sprinkles.”

Sprinkles? “…Yes, please,” Mike said, his voice hushed.

A bowl and the tub was set on the island. Mike sat down on a stool, watching as Petunia scooped ice cream for him. He noticed that they were fairly big scoops and that the sprinkles were rainbow. He felt excited, heart buzzing in his chest, but also strangely calm. It was hypnotizing, watching Petunia’s hand and wrist move fluidly enough to prove her expertise of scooping ice cream for her family.

_“Psst! Michael!”_

_The child squeaked, surprised. He turned around, Freddy towering above him. The bear was holding a small plate in one hand, a piece of cake topping it. The other children were swarming Pirate Cove, Foxy’s voice bellowing across the restaurant as he whipped around on his stage._

_“I saw that you ate all your lunch again, veggies and all,” Freddy said, smiling warmly, “so I snuck you a piece of ice cream cake.” He handed it to the child. “It’s your favorite.”_

_Mikey grinned widely, eyes sparkling. “Thank you, Freddy!” He took the plate and held it carefully. He loved ice cream cake, especially if it was chocolate. Freddy always remembered what his favorite foods were; all of them did._

_Freddy chuckled, reaching and patting Mikey’s head. “You’re welcome, Michael. Now go sit and eat before it melts…?”_

“…okay?”

Mike shivered, suddenly entirely cold. Petunia was looking at him, holding the bottle of sprinkles. The teen sat up, rubbing his eyes. They felt dry. “Huh?”

“I was asking if you wanted rainbow sprinkles. We have other kinds in the cabinet.” Petunia frowned softly. “You spaced out. Are you alright, Mike?”

“Yeah.” Mike sniffed. “Just tired.”

“I can imagine. That awful job…” Mike’s eyes snapped back to her. She gave a sad smile. “I know what happens there at night, Mike.” She started sprinkling, little dashes of color brightening the dark brown. “Logan tried so hard to hide it from me at first, but there’s only so much he can do. If I think there’s something wrong, I dig until I hit silver.”

Mike swallowed. Knowing that made his chest tighten with anxiety. Hopefully she wasn’t too serious. “What else do you know?” he asked, curious.

“The cover-ups for the murdered guards, the papers drawn for the ones who quit, the strange cases of the disappearing scrap papers…” She capped the bottle. “That you’re the Bite victim.”

Mike’s skin felt cold. He felt the urge to run and hide. He felt like she could see him, all of him. “Oh,” he rasped.

Petunia sighed, looking tired. “Oh, I hate talking about that place. It’s made a mess of Logan, you see, but finding a job that pays as well as what they give Logan is like winning the lottery. Horrible work, but they’ve got us tight, and with my cousin being ill…” She shook her head. “What am I saying? I was making you ice cream.”

Mike fought from scratching at his hands. “I used to go there when I was little.”

The redhead put the lid back on the ice cream and stuck a spoon in the bowl. “I can imagine. That place was booming years ago. I remember it being so popular before ’87.” She slid the bowl over to him. “Here you go, Mike.”

He felt like his mouth was watering. It probably was. He took the spoon and took a small chunk of ice cream. The sprinkles only added to the faint nostalgia in the back of his mind. Mike took a bite, flavor bursting across his tongue. Happiness instantly flooded his body, the coolness welcomed back for the first time in years. He smiled around his bite.

_Foxy started laughing, loud and bellowing. “Ye’ve got chocolate all over yer face, Mikey!”_

_Mikey smiled, showing off his tiny teeth. “Freddy gave me cake for eating lunch!”_

_“I can see that.” Foxy grabbed a napkin off of an empty table. “Come here, lad, we can’ have anyone seein’ that ye’ve made off with some cake. I’ll be tried fer lettin’ ye out of my sight fer sure!”_

“I hope you’re not overeating,” Petunia said, breaking through Mike’s thoughts. “It does worry me how thin you are. Do you not have enough money for food?”

His stomach did feel a little upset, and… “I’m not really big on eating,” he found himself saying. It was true, but he hadn’t been planning to tell her that. “And then I have my rent.”

“Logan said you were living in an apartment building that didn’t look too safe.” Petunia frowned. “Mike, if you need a place to stay, you can always stay here or with Chris.”

The offer caught him off guard, so much so that he actually dropped his spoon. He barely knew Petunia, barely knew this family, and yet she was offering him a place to stay. Chris had set up the spare bedroom for him as well. Did that mean that Chris was also offering to allow Mike to stay?

“I know it’s sudden and that you don’t know us well,” Petunia continued, “but you’re a sweet boy in a tight spot.” She pushed a stray hair from her face. “I was living on my own when I was your age, too. It was only for a year, but it was tough. I know what it’s like to be desperate.”

Mike was staring at her with wide eyes, listening closely. Had she been beaten as well, or was it something different? Did she know what it was like to shower with only the rain, how the snow felt cold through the thickest clothing? Did she know what it felt like to look over your shoulder, terrified of the police and of the monster?

“If you ever need a place to stay, you can always ask.”

And Mike wanted to. He wanted to stay here despite the fear and dread lacing his every choice. He wanted to stay at Chris’s, keep the anchor of pine and coffee and smoke close to him. He wanted to know what it was like to eat at the dinner table on a normal basis, what it was like living with someone that wouldn’t hurt him.

He wanted that normality so _badly._

But he couldn’t take it. No matter how much he wanted to, the night-shift would rip everything to pieces. If he was caught, then how would Chris be able to walk by the spare bedroom in the morning if it would be emptied? If he was caught, how would the girls react? If he was caught, what would Logan do and what would Petunia say? If he was caught, just how badly would he destroy their lives?

And Mike wouldn’t do that to them.

The green eyes were warm and gentle. “Mike,” she said softly, “is there something you want to say?”

There were so many things he wanted to say. He wanted to ask Petunia why she was being so nice when she had no reason to be. He wanted to ask if all moms were supposed to be like this, sweet and loving. He wanted to thank her for not hurting or touching him like Mama did. He wanted to ask for a hug to see what it felt like, because Chris’s hug felt like it was from years ago.

“Thank you for inviting me,” he said instead.

Petunia’s face was bright. “You’re very welcome, Mike.” She picked up the tub and sprinkles, standing. “I’ll set a place at the table for you from now on. You’re always welcome here.”

Mike felt his eyes sting and throat tighten. “Okay.”

Buddy came into the room, trotting happily. He plopped down by Mike, sniffing the teen’s pockets for any food. Mike smiled, reaching to scratch his ear. The feeling of Buddy’s fur under his fingers made him feel a lot better.

Logan popped his head in as well. “Hey, someone busted out the ice cream,” he chirped.

Petunia turned and held up the tub. “Do you want some now or later?”

The blond waved his hand. “Later.” He grinned widely. “I got out the board games. Mike, do you want to play?”

Mike looked back at Logan with wide eyes, surprised. “Play?” he echoed. He felt his heart begin thumping. “Really?” They wanted to play…with him?

“Sure! We’ve got room for one more!” Logan eyed Petunia, scowling. “She’s a natural winner there, Mike. I’d be careful not to cross her.”

Petunia rolled her eyes, snorting. “You’re still upset that I beat you at your favorite game. That was weeks ago, darling.” Her eyes, however, slid to Mike with a mischievous gleam. “But I _am_ very good at winning.”

Mike looked back at Logan, undeterred. “Can I really?” he asked, excitement coloring his voice.

Something passed by Logan’s eyes, something by Petunia’s as well, but Logan just smiled. “Finish your ice cream and come out, sport. We’ve got some winning to do.”

Mike grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come
> 
> I love my little muffin baby so much, but duty called and said more angst.
> 
> Also Rosie loves her Uncle Chris. It's almost like Chris has a bit of a parental bone in his body C:


	12. Basil and Cheese

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the night dies down into quiet, Petunia tells Logan about a sinking feeling she has about Mike's shy nature.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guess what was supposed to go up right after 11 but didn't because I fell asleep and then got distracted afterwards.
> 
> Honestly this chapter was an afterthought, but I decided to write it out for some more insight on Logan and Petunia's relationship. It's short, and the next one is going to be as well, but shh plot! More plot!

Logan was carrying Rosie up the stairs, the girl sleeping soundly in his arms, Caitlyn dragging herself behind him. Buddy had settled on the couch, snoring away. The living room had been cleaned up, the board games back on the shelf. Petunia at the door, Chris and Mike standing on the front step.

“You sure you don’t want to stay here for the night?” Petunia asked. “We have a spare room if you and Mike want to share.”

Chris shook his head. “Nah, we’re good. Plus the kid here snores, he’ll wake the girls.”

Mike gave Chris a bleary glare. The night and social interaction had drained him, leaving exhaustion and a slightly touchy attitude in its wake. “I don’t,” he grumbled, rubbing his eyes.

Chris shot him a smirk. Mike didn't snore, but he just couldn’t resist making the little jab. “You don’t know that.” He looked back at Petunia. “Again, thanks for having us over, Petunia. I was actually pretty hungry.”

“Hopefully now that Mike’s around, you’ll be eating healthier,” the woman said. At Chris’s baffled expression, she crossed her arms. “Chris.”

The janitor sighed. “Yeah, yeah.” He tugged Mike’s arm. “Come on, kid.”

Mike followed Chris’s lead without a word, tired. Petunia watched them go, watched Mike clamber into the passenger side and Chris help him in. She gave a small wave to Chris as he pulled out of the driveway, the man returning it, and then they were gone down the road within the minute.

Petunia stood there for another moment even after the taillights were out of sight. Not even the cold made her move.

Logan came from behind her. “They leave already?” he asked.

“Yes.” Petunia turned to him. “The girls?”

“Both are out cold. I think this is the most fun they’ve had playing board games since Chris came along.” Logan smiled, face bright. “It looked like Mike had a lot of fun. He picked up everything so fast. He’s a lot quicker than he looks.”

Petunia nodded, returning the happy expression. “He’s a smart boy. Very shy, but smart.” She looked back down the road. “But he seemed clueless on how to play with others, like he forgot.”

Logan followed her gaze despite there being nothing where she was looking. “Yeah.” He shivered. “Let’s go inside.”

The door was shut carefully behind them. Buddy wasn’t the smartest dog, but he was certainly good at hearing the front door open. The retriever, however, remained asleep, tuckered out from all the attention. Mike had certainly taken a liking to him, the teen giving Buddy all the attention in the world for hours.

Logan noticed Petunia’s closed expression. “What’s wrong, doll?”

Petunia bit her lip. “I can’t stop thinking about Mike,” she said. She looked at Logan. “Logan, something’s not right. There’s something about Mike that makes me worry.”

The blond blinked, surprised. “He’s a good kid, Petunia,” he said. “He lives in a shady spot, but he’s-.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Petunia cut off. Her lips were pulled tight. “I mean I’m worried _for_ him. There’s just something that doesn’t feel right, like he’s hiding something.”

Something like dread settled in the pit of Logan’s stomach. “What do you mean by that?”

“It was like he was scared of being alone with me in the kitchen. He was just…looking in,” Petunia said. “When I told him to take off his scarf, he looked at me like I was going to hit him.” She paused. “I thought his shyness was cute, still when he came here today, but with how he was acting… Something just doesn’t feel right.”

Logan glanced at the vase on the table. He had picked them from the garden with the girls yesterday. “I’ve…noticed that, too,” he admitted. “But I don’t think we should be jumping to what I think we are. At least, not yet.”

Silence. Then, “I know what it’s like to live in a quiet home,” Petunia whispered. There was a rawness to her voice that tore at Logan’s heartstrings, one that he knew all too well. “He just reminds me so much of how I was before I got out of there.”

Logan moved to her side, settling his hands on her shoulders. “I know,” he said. He rubber her shoulders in a rhythm. “I’ll try and find what I can on his parents. I’ll start tomorrow after the girls go to Jane’s. It shouldn’t take too long to find out about his parents.”

Petunia leaned against him, wanting the chill of the past to leave her and Logan’s warmth to replace it. “I hope so.” She frowned. “But if his family isn’t who he says they are…”

“Then he’ll stay with us,” the blond finished. “Or even Chris. Mike seems to be more comfortable around him, and Chris has taken a shine to him. Either way, Petunia, Mike’s going to be safe if that’s the case. Once he's away from the pizzeria, too.”

The woman nested her cheek in the bright hair. She took comfort in the smell of coffee and printer ink Logan carried, but the speck of suspicion and dread remained heavy in her heart. She knew what it was like to lie for family, what it was like to be the frightened child that escaped out the window to stay at a friend’s house, what it was like to be a young adult on their own, and Mike reminded her of those dark days.

In fact, Mike was an exact replica of her in those dark days.

Logan put an arm around Petunia’s waist. “Hey, how about we have a second dinner?” he suggested, voice soft. “That wine bottle’s been sitting in there for a few days, and we’ve got some good cheese to go with it.” He smiled. “How about it?”

The basil eyes grew warm with life again. Petunia returned the smile with a fragile one of her own. “That sounds good,” she said, a small rasp caught in her voice.

The smaller pulled away. “Then I shall grab the refreshments,” Logan stated, bowing. “Would the beautiful Lady Petunia please have a seat on the couch next to the royal guard dog?”

Petunia giggled, bowing back. “I would be honored,” she responded.

Logan swiped a pale hand and kissed it. Petunia rolled her eyes playfully. The blond released her and tiptoed away, back to the kitchen. Petunia moved past it, mentally counting when Logan would hit the fridge. The quiet grunt and the sound of the fridge giving a faint rattle came half a second later.

She sat down next to Buddy. The dog let out a low yawn, peeking at her with a sleepy eye before returning to his slumber. She let her fingers card through the thick fur idly.

It wouldn’t be too hard in finding out the backgrounds of Mike’s parents, couldn’t be. There were only two paths to take after that, Petunia was more than ready to take the one she was anticipating. Once she knew for sure about Mike’s parents and his situation, then she would work with Logan on convincing Mike to find a different job before the night shift killed him. No matter how many times Mike would refuse to leave it, Petunia wasn’t going to let a young boy die there for pride; or whatever else Mike thought he was staying for.

 _It would be okay._ Petunia looked into the dining room, listening to Logan rummaging through the fridge. _It has to be._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "...like I was going to hit him." 
> 
> Oh, Petunia ;)
> 
> If anyone has any questions about the AU, you can ask me in the comments or on tumblr. Link's on my profile.
> 
> More to come


	13. Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Mike presumably enjoys the rest of the weekend, the animatronics spend their Sunday night with a makeshift board game and a sulking pirate fox.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been replaying Pokemon Platinum for nearly a week straight in all my waking moments to quench my incredibly needy thirst for nostalgia (and watching Markiplier and Jacksepticeye): that's my really bad excuse for this chapter being out super late.
> 
> Don't worry, I'll be working on the next chapter, what with the winter vortex shutting down basically everything in town (no class today, which frees up _hours_ of my time) Enjoy, and hopefully I'll get bored with playing sooner than later!
> 
> (Turtwig ftw <3)

“That’s totally not a word.”

“It is. Look in the dictionary, it’s in there.”

“There’s no way that ‘platypus’ is a thing, Chica.”

“It’s a word.”

“I studied this thing for weeks!”

“Then you didn’t study hard enough.”

Freddy was looking down at the two, amused. Bonnie and Chica were sitting across from each other on the stage, wooden squares placed carefully on a large piece of paper. The dictionary, old and worn, was set off to the side, the thing that would break the temporary tie. Again the two were at a stalemate, their vocabulary pushed to the limit with their month long game.

Freddy had a feeling that they were playing the game wrong. The board and the directions had gone missing, leaving only the pieces. There was no theme, so the words ranged from common to bizarre. At the rate the two were going, Freddy hoped he would be able to find a new book.

Bonnie grabbed the book, huffing. “Fine, show me where it is.” He opened it, flicking to ‘P’.

Chica extended her hand, wiggling her fingers. Bonnie gave her the book grudgingly. The chicken was smirking as she flicked through a few more pages before stopping. She handed it back to Bonnie, her feathery finger arching over and pointing to the word.

A moment of quiet. Then, “You’re kidding!” Bonnie screamed. “That’s such a dumb word! It doesn’t even make any sense!”

Chica just chortled. “Pick your word, bun-bun.”

Bonnie let out an angry grunt. “Fine. Give me a minute.”

“What does it mean?” Freddy asked, honestly curious.

“It’s an animal with a beaver tail and duck bill,” the chicken informed dutifully. “It lays eggs.”

“Again, makes no sense,” Bonnie grumbled as he went to find a word.

Chica suddenly straightened. “Yeah, it lays eggs and had a duck bill,” she said again, voice louder. Her eyes slid to the Cove. “Just like a…”

There was no sound or movement from the Cove. The response that was wanted didn’t come.

Chica frowned, slumping. Usually that got Foxy to at least say something. She looked up at Freddy. “Freddy, he hasn’t come out all weekend.”

Freddy sighed. “I know,” he said. “I thought leaving him alone for the weekend would give him time to cool down, but…”

Bonnie glanced back. “Should we say something?” he asked. He knew that Foxy preferred being left alone, especially when it came to guards like the current one.

Freddy moved towards the edge of the stage. “I’ll go talk to him,” he said. He sat on the edge and slipped off, his feet making a soft thud against the tiles. “You two go back to your game.”

Bonnie and Chica watched him walk towards the Cove for a moment. Bonnie’s conflicted frown switched to an annoyed scowl when a letter piece hit his face. He looked back to see Chica smirking, emphasizing her mood with the loud tapping of her fingers against the floorboards. The rabbit let out an annoyed huff and went back to the book. He was so not losing to Chica now.

Freddy stopped in front of the Cove. He didn’t hear any movement, but that wasn’t surprising. Foxy was usually either sleeping or thinking, and Freddy was sure that Foxy was awake right now. He knew how these kinds of guards got to the fox, how their similarities wriggled and stuck in Foxy’s gears.

“Foxy?” Freddy called, voice gentle. “Can I come in?” Invading the Cove was a sure way to get a nasty screech and swearing fit. Even though it wasn’t as common as it was in the beginning, Freddy was still sure to alert Foxy of his presence.

A minute or so passed without a response. Freddy, however, waited patiently. In the span of the waiting time, Chica had let out a quiet, strangled snarl and Bonnie had returned it with an evil cackle.

Finally, “…Sure.”

Freddy stepped up onto the Cove ledge. He parted the curtains slowly, the dim light sneaking past his body and into the dark room. A glimpse of Foxy’s torn tail was lit up, the rest of him mostly hidden in shadows.

The Cove had once been bright and filled with props to bring the imagination of pirates to life, but the magic was long gone. Most of the props had been removed and replaced with boxes that wouldn’t fit in storage. The paintings of palm trees and clouds on the walls were left to peel and chip away, streaks of Foxy’s hook cutting through them like claws. The only things left of the past were some fake rocks and the small, decrepit pirate ship that was nestled in the corner. Before, children could run in and out of the holes poked in the hull, the deck purposely made off limits. Now the Cove was empty, the ship having become abandoned and ghostly in the wake of ’87. Foxy was lying against the wall, torn back turned to Freddy and boxes hiding barely any of him.

Freddy carefully stepped inside the Cove, the curtains falling behind him. “It’s Sunday,” he said. Foxy was prone to losing track of time. “Bonnie and Chica are trying to break their tie.”

“I’ve been hearin’,” Foxy said. He didn’t turn around. “Who’s winnin’?”

“I’m…not too sure,” Freddy responded, chuckling. He moved closer, taking a seat on the floor next to the small box barrier. “You know how they get.”

“Yeah.”

A moment of quiet. It was harder to hear Bonnie and Chica.

“I’m sorry,” Foxy mumbled.

“So am I,” Freddy said. He was certainly the most deserving of blame for Friday's fallout.

The fox sighed. “No, ye just…” He dragged himself up, leaning more heavily against the wall. “We all agreed on the rule. I was bein’ stupid.”

The icy eyes darkened. “You were _not_ being stupid,” Freddy said firmly. “With how he looks… I know it’s hard on you.”

Foxy’s eyes slid to the abandoned ship, dim. “How am I supposed ta protect the kids from another monster if I can’ pull myself together for one damn guard?”

“Foxy, you take care of the night guard’s just fine,” Freddy said, pitch lifting just a touch. Foxy was certainly more thorough with making sure a guard got what they deserved than any one of them.

“Yeah, but not the ones that look like Mikey,” Foxy spat, disgusted with himself. “All because I can’ get the fuck over myself.”

Freddy couldn’t help but tense at the boy’s name, the horrible sadness peeking through his wires to settled on every inch of his endoskeleton. He took in a mental breath, pushing it back. “Foxy, if I was in your suit, I certainly wouldn’t be able to just get over myself,” he said carefully.

He was just pushing the knife deeper into his own wires, but Foxy couldn’t help himself. “It’s been nine years,” he got out, voice tight. “He’s dead, Freddy, he’s been dead fer nine years.” Foxy let out a small sound. “But I…”

“It’s hard,” Freddy murmured. “It’s hard on you, Foxy.”

“But not as hard as it is fer the kids at risk,” the pirate growled, strangled. They couldn’t let that awful day repeat, no matter what, but…

Freddy reached and settled a hand on Foxy’s torn shoulder. The other animatronic tensed. “Foxy, it was a horrific day. It’s been nine years, yes, but that doesn’t change how it affected us.”

Foxy said nothing. Then, “…He looks so much like Mikey.” His voice was strained. “He looks like Mikey, just a little grown up.” His fist clenched against his leg. “But Mikey’s gone.”

“I know,” Freddy whispered. _I saw._

The fox turned his head. His eyepatch was up, allowing both eyes to faintly shine. His dim eyes were tinted grey, irises milky. “Do ye think he’s with the other children?” he asked. “Wherever they went; ye think he’s with them?”

That’s the one thought that comforted Freddy whenever Michael came to mind. “I would think so,” he said. They had had this conversation before, hundreds of times throughout the years, but there was always the fear that someone’s words would change. “They wouldn’t leave Michael behind.”

Foxy choked. He brought up a hand and rubbed an eye. The right had been completely engulfed in black, pupil white, and the other was still darkening. Black dots were on his furry cheeks. “He always got lost easily,” he whispered.

“And he was always found,” Freddy reminded. Michael did have the knack to get lost, his height adding to the struggle, but Layla and the others would always find him. “It’s okay, Foxy.”

“I sure fuckin’ hope it is,” the pirate rasped, no fire behind his words. He could live with Mikey’s spirit hating him, but he couldn’t live knowing if Mikey was struggling to pass on.

“It is,” the older said. _It has to be._

They stayed like that, mostly frozen and mostly silent. Sometimes a small sound would escape Foxy, a quiet wounded noise, and Freddy would simply pat his shoulder. Bonnie and Chica seemed almost silent now, their voices into a murmur that Freddy was sure they were doing purposefully.

Foxy took in a breath he didn’t need. “I’m fine now,” he said. His voice was rough. “Really, I’m fine.”

It was very untrue, but enough wounds had been torn at tonight. “Do you want to come out for a while?” Freddy asked. He was sure Foxy wasn’t up for socializing, but it was worth asking.

“I… No,” Foxy said. He shook his head. “No, I don’ want ta.”

“Okay,” the bear said, nodding. “Try and rest up for tomorrow.”

A short pause. “I’ll come out Tuesday,” Foxy told him. “I don’ think I’ll be okay tomorrow.”

“That’s okay,” Freddy assured. “We’ll just go back to the normal Monday tomorrow then.”

“Thanks,” the other muttered.

“Is there anything else? I could bring you something.”

“I’m fine.”

Freddy nodded. “Alright.” He stood. There was a faint cracking sound as he stood, wires and joints straightening. “Goodnight, Foxy.”

“Night, Freddy,” Foxy said.

The bear left the Cove. He gave the curtains an extra tug shut to make sure light didn’t disturb Foxy, then stepped off the ledge. Freddy looked over at Bonnie and Chica, the two looking at him with hopeful eyes. Despite the common fights, they still liked having Foxy’s company.

Freddy shook his head. The two frowned, but said nothing. Foxy staying in the Cove all weekend wasn't a surprise.

The guard was becoming a problem, a big one. Freddy didn’t like seeing his family in pain and watching Foxy struggle to keep himself together. The guard needed to go fast before he did any more damage to their already wounded family.

 _Soon,_ Freddy thought, going back to the stage. _Soon you’ll be caught, little mouse, and we’ll be able to rest easy knowing that another threat is gone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Foxy's a depressed murder bun ;c
> 
> I've seen a lot of AU's were Freddy and Foxy are at odds with each other, especially if it's a "Foxy did the Bite" AU, but I've never seen it that way. There will be more on their relationship (platonic, let's be clear) in the future.
> 
> If you'd like to ask me questions about the AU or anything else, feel free to ask in the comments, swing by my tumblr, or ask me on my twitter (https://twitter.com/AFrozenVeggie)


	14. Week 2: Sweet Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monday rolls around, kicking off Mike's second week of hell. Before his shift, Mike wonders about some very important things, and Chris once again proves that he cares for the kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 88 kudos? 11 bookmarks?? 1261 hits??? _What????_ How the hell did I not notice this before?! I think my eyes would see the numbers but my brain would be like "there's no way" and I just forgot about it. Cheezits crust, thank you guys for checking out my story and enjoying it! I never imagined anyone reading this!
> 
> There are now 90 kudos and 1313 hits. I'm shook.
> 
> Once again, I don't wish to romanticize or damper Mike's self-harm and depression. Please remember that these are serious issues that need to be taken seriously and that Mike isn't a representation of everyone. If you're struggling with any form of self harm or depression, please try to talk to someone or research ways to give yourself proper self-care.

_“Hey!”_

_Mikey jumped with a startled yelp. The voice had been just behind his head. He turned to see a boy standing behind him, looking at him with bright brown eyes that seemed almost orange. His hair was blond and fluffed, sticking up more at the center of his head like a small mohawk. A light brown splatter mark was between his eyebrows, another peeking from beneath his shirt collar._

_“I’ve never seen you here before,” the boy said. “What are you doing?”_

_Mikey wasn’t sure how to feel about the strange boy talking to him. “I wanted to see Foxy again,” he said. He was never sure how long it would be until Mama took him here again, so Mikey wanted to see Foxy as much as possible._

_The blond sniffed. “I’m Tyler.” He looked at Mikey’s hand, then reached and grabbed it. “You’re my new friend.”_

_“What?” Mikey squeaked. They were friends now? Was it that simple?_

_Tyler grinned, easy and bright. There was a gap between his upper teeth. “What’s your name?”_

_The child nibbled his lip. “Mikey,” he responded._

_“Okay!” the blond exclaimed. He started to tug Mikey away. “Come play with me. I’m tired of being the only boy in the group.”_

_Group? Mikey looked back, trying to get a look at the Cove. People were in the way. “I wanna see Foxy,” Mikey whined, desperate._

_“We’ll see him later,” Tyler said. “Cassidy keeps teasing me about being the only boy and I said I’d bring another boy back to prove her wrong.”_

_Mikey whined again, unsure, but knew better than to struggle. He was used to being shoved and hit by kids that came up to him, not…this. Tyler led him through the crowd of children and through the legs of an occasional waiter._

_One of the tables near the stage was occupied by four girls. The tables near the stage were usually reserved for kids with birthdays. The tables near the stage were usually reserved for kids with birthdays, but it didn't seem like a celebration._

_“Where’s Tyler?” one of the girls asked. She was stockier than everyone else, stronger-looking. Her skin was dark field brown and her cheeks were peppered with freckles, her curly hair against her neck. Her eyes were a deep, gentle hazel. She was lazily eating a slice of pizza, freckled cheeks moving with her jaw._

_“Off to find another boy,” another answered. Her hair was long and straight, reaching over her shoulders. She looked bored, empty blue eyes looking at the other kids as she ate some grapes. She sat at the end of the table._

_“He doesn’t need another boy here!” another girl piped up across from her. Her brunette hair was short and sleek. A long scar stretched down the left side of her face, just barely grazing the side of her eye. She grinned as she grabbed her slice of pizza, sharp grey eyes wild. “He’s got me to wrestle with!”_

_“You’re too rough,” the final girl whined. Her skin was extremely pale, as were her green eyes, but her striking red curls brought out her colors. She seemed smaller, frailer, than the other girls. She sat next to the wild girl, an empty chair next to her._

_The girl with long black hair noticed them. Her eyes slid to Mikey, and the boy instantly felt fearful of her. “You actually brought back another boy,” she said. Her voice was just as empty, only held up with her amused tone._

_“Yeah!” Tyler exclaimed. “This is Mikey, my new friend.” He looked at Mikey. “Say hi.”_

_Mikey didn’t say anything. He felt frozen under the four sets of eyes._

_“Here,” the girl across from the wild one said to Mikey, patting the seat next to her. “Sit next to me, Mikey.”_

_Tyler released Mikey’s hand to move around the table. Mikey looked after him for a moment, seemingly stuck, before hesitantly moving forward towards the girl. He pulled out the chair a bit more before climbing on top of it. The table had a generous pizza in the middle, cups of pop at everyone’s side with small bowls of fruit or fries next to them._

_“Are you hungry?” the one girl asked. She didn’t wait for Mikey to answer, already reaching and grabbing a piece of the dwindling pizza. She grabbed a plate next to it and set it in front of Mikey, dropping the piece onto it. “Here. It’s extra cheese.”_

_Mikey looked at her, cautious. He wasn’t too sure about trusting her kindness, but his stomach growled loudly. He bit back a whimper; his normal diet was always challenged here. He grabbed the slice and took a big bite. He couldn’t stop himself from trying to take more, the new taste delicious and irresistible to him._

_“Don’t choke, Mikey!” the redheaded girl squealed._

_The short-haired girl sat up on her knees. “I’ll punch him if he chokes!” she proclaimed, grinning. “I’ve done it before!”_

_That got Mikey to slow down. He pulled back the slice and chewed his mouthful dutifully. He looked at the bigger girl with big eyes. “Thank you,” he tried to say, though it came out incoherent mumbling past his cheeks._

_She seemed to get the message, however. “No problem,” she said. “I’m Layla.”_

_“I’m Agatha!” the redhead piped up._

_“Zoey,” the scarred girl said shortly before going for her fries._

_“And I’m Cassidy,” the girl with long hair finished. She was looking at Mikey strangely. “Who’s your favorite animal?” she asked, seemingly curious._

_Mikey stopped himself from taking another bite of pizza. “Um, I don’t know.” He looked back towards Pirate Cove. “I like Foxy a lot,” he said._

_Zoey slammed her hands down on the table. Mikey nearly jumped out of his chair. “Cool!” she shouted. “He’s my favorite, too! Pirates are the best!”_

_Agatha winced next to her. “Zoey, you’re really loud,” she whined._

_Zoey frowned. “Sorry,” she mumbled. She looked back at Mikey, grinning. “You’re gonna be my new pirate buddy.”_

_Mikey stared, wide-eyed. “Really?” He wasn’t really sure of what that meant or if it was a good thing with her, but Mikey felt excited to be apparently chosen for something._

_“I wanna play with him, too!” Agatha piped up._

_“Hey, I found him!” Tyler squawked._

_“Guys,” Layla huffed. Everyone looked at her. “Let Mikey play with whoever. He’s not a doll.”_

_Cassidy smiled, a spark coming to her eyes. “He looks like one,” she giggled. She looked at Tyler. “I guess it’s a good thing I teased you. I like him.”_

_Tyler’s eyes widened. “Oh,” he blurted. His cheeks were tinted with color. “Cool.”_

_Layla tugged on Mikey’s sleeve. The smaller looked up at her, the older girl leaning closer. “Just be careful around Cassidy,” she whispered. “She has some weird moods.”_

_Mikey instantly thought back to Mama. “Oh.”_

_Zoey had apparently finished her food. “Come on, Mikey!” She hopped out her chair. “Let’s go see Foxy!”_

_The excitement rushed back again, and Mikey couldn’t help but grin as Zoey grabbed his hand and pulled him towards Pirate Cove._

“Mike.” Someone was shaking his shoulder lightly. “Mike, wake up.”

Mike groaned, his face scrunching slightly. He squirmed a bit, trying to burrow back into the soft pillow. The smells of pizza and grapes were gone, replaced with pine and smoke.

“Kid, you’ve got an hour before your shift. It’s time to get up.”

The pale eyelids slowly opened, blue eyes foggy with sleep. He turned his head back to see Chris standing over him, light scowl on his face as usual. Mike let out a yawn and rubbed his face.

“Looks like you slept well,” Chris muttered, though there was no fire in his words. “You’ve been out for most of the day.”

Had he? That was more than a surprise to Mike. “Really?” he asked. Usually a nightmare would wake him up and keep him awake, but apparently he had been sleeping for a while.

“Yeah.” Chris looked at him strangely for a second. “You sleep like a hedgehog. You take as much space as one does, too.”

Mike frowned. “Huh?”

The man sighed. “I’m saying you sleep all curled up, Mike. I’m pretty sure you know what a hedgehog is.”

Mike sat up. “Yeah,” he said. He saw a hedgehog once in the shelter. It had been cute and small, and Mike had gotten to hold and feed it. Mike faintly remembered it being adopted.

“Good.” Chris crossed his arms. It seemed to be a reflex. “Your uniform’s on the dresser, but seriously go take a shower.” He sniffed. “I have no idea how no one noticed it before, but you smell like pizza and whatever died in your apartment.”

Mike’s cheeks swiftly turned pink. “Really?” He remembered showering earlier last week, but he had showered after that…right?

“Go shower.” Chris turned and started walking away. “If you get hair everywhere, you’re never using my shower again.”

The warm water was a pleasant surprise to Mike and his skin. Being used to cold water, Mike had almost forgotten that warmth could come from the pipes. He almost let out a questionable sound at the feeling of warm water on his body. Mike was far too happy about the water to be worried about using Chris’s bathroom.

The tub had a sliding door attached to it, heavily blurring the other side that was already hidden by a curtain. It made Mike feel a little more secure. The shelves were tucked in the corner. One had a bar of soap and body wash, the other had shaving cream, a razor, and hair products.

Mike grabbed the shampoo. It was pine-scented; a source of Chris’s comforting smell. Despite the small voice in the back of Mike’s head whispering that he shouldn’t use what wasn’t his, he dabbed some of the gel into his hands and scrubbed through his hair.

Everything was so dream-like, but everything felt so real. It was real, and that was what baffled Mike. Just a week ago he knew no one and had been prepared to go with the flow of the usual routine. Now he had people looking after him, making sure he wasn’t starving and asking how he was. It was a complete change from his life of being ignored and hurt, and Mike wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Happy, yes, but he was also feeling horribly cautious.

When Mike grabbed the bar of soap, new from the looks of it, his eyes slid to his left arm. It was the worst out of the two, his dominate hand still the strongest after years of using them both. The cuts crossed paths multiple times, the newer ones stinging slightly under the water. The abrupt stop they came to a little above his hand, so no one would see his shame, was as white and stainless as the bathroom tiles.

He knew he didn’t deserve this. Why should he, when he was a horrible burden? He shouldn’t like being selfish. But despite that, despite everything that he knew and despite what everyone had told him, Mike liked this. Mike liked someone caring for him, the concern that people expressed for him and the gentle touches he was rewarded. Mike liked that someone thought that he mattered enough to be invited to dinner, liked that someone allowed him to play board games and eat ice cream.

Mike liked that someone cared.

The teen ran the soap over his arm, hissing when it ran over the scabs. It felt nice against the rest of him, and Mike did like the smell. He knew he’d be teased, but Mike wanted to ask Chris what kind it was. Usually he just settled for the cheapest kind, but the money he was getting would be well spent. His regular soap made his skin feel scratchy, tighter than it already was and irritate his cuts, but this one only gave a slight sting.

He didn’t catch that he was wanting something that would improve something about himself until a few seconds later, and Mike was surprised that he wasn’t really bothered by the thought.

Mike finished quickly. He didn’t want the animatronics taking advantage of any extra minutes that might be spared. He dried off quickly, though he made sure that his scabs weren’t catching against the towel.

A knock made him jump. “You want me to toss your uniform in there?”

The raven-head took in a calming breath. “Yeah,” he responded. Then with a rush of panic he added, “Don’t look!”

The door cracked open a bit more. “Relax, kid,” Chris said, though there was amusement in his voice. His hand slipped through the crack and tossed the folded clothes on the floor. “Just toss the towel over the curtain when you’re done.”

Mike did so after the door shut. He put on the uniform. It smelled like fresh laundry with a touch of pine. Had Chris washed this with his clothes? The teen noticed that the blood from his nosebleed was gone, the area slightly lighter than the rest of the uniform.

After he was done dressing, he noticed himself in the mirror. The one at his apartment was broken, but Mike never looked at it anyway. His hair was glistening with stray droplets, but it was…fluffy. Clean. There was a bit of color to his cheeks, a bit of fullness. The bruises on his neck were still horrifically dark, making his colors pop in a macabre way.

For the first time in a very, very long time, Mike didn’t feel disgusted at his reflection.

The chill of the living-room made him shiver. Chris was sitting on the couch, eating some food. A laundry basket sat on the coffee table, fairly full.

“Here,” Chris said, lifting up a sandwich he had been holding. “Hope you like turkey.”

Mike took it. “You made me a sandwich?” he asked, surprised. It looked good despite the only toppings being turkey and lettuce.

“I’m not sending you to that hellhole hungry. I’m not that cruel.” Chris eyed him, then his expression softened. “Jesus, your hair’s fucking wild.”

The younger couldn’t help but giggle. “It’s not that bad,” he said. He took a bite of his sandwich. _That’s good._

“You look like Einstein got tazed,” Chris snorted, smirking. “Seriously, you need a haircut. And a brush. I have one, but you’d probably break it.”

Mike gave him a small glare. “Mm-mmm,” he hummed through his mouthful.

Chris stood up, then reached in the laundry basket. “I washed your jacket,” he said, grabbing the thing. “This is pretty thin, kid. Is this all you have?”

The teen swallowed his food. He frowned. “Yeah,” he muttered.

Chris looked at him for a minute. He sighed. “I’m taking you shopping this week for a new jacket. This is way too thin and falling apart. I had to sew some stuff back together.”

Mike blinked. “You sew?”

The janitor snorted. “Of course that’s what gets your attention.” He tossed the jacket to Mike, who caught it. “Seriously, you need a new jacket. You’re going to get sick if this is all you have. I’m surprised Logan didn’t jump on you for that.”

Honestly, Mike was surprised too, but shopping? Mike had never been shopping. He wasn’t sure accepting any clothing his size from a volunteer at the shelter counted at shopping.

“We’ve got twenty minutes.” Chris looked at his hands and sighed. “I don’t have time to bandage those right now. Can you keep your teeth off of them for a few hours?”

“Uh…” Could he? “I’ll try.”

Not a no, but not a yes. “That’s all I’m asking for, kid. Now let’s roll.”

Mike liked the radio station Chris had picked. It was quiet, just background noise, but it sounded nice. Some kind of rock station. He managed to eat the rest of his sandwich on the ride. Surprisingly, his stomach wasn’t as nauseated this time.

At a red light, Chris asked, “How’s your neck?”

The teen startled, then mentally sighed. He had to get used to Chris doing that. “Sore,” he admitted. “It doesn’t really hurt to talk anymore. It’s better to swallow too.”

“Yeah, and that’s why I’m asking.” Chris eyed him, looking confused. “I’m amazed that you’re actually able to talk. Your neck looked like someone ran it over and parked on it.”

Mike lifted a hand and touched his neck gingerly. It still hurt. “Yeah…”

They pulled into the parking lot a few minutes later. Chris pulled up next to the door, giving Mike a short and quick path into the place. The teen unbuckled himself and searched for his keys. Chris had taken them off of a small rack by the apartment door.

“You don’t have to go in there.”

Mike startled, surprised at Chris’s voice. “What?”

“I can tell Logan you did your shift,” Chris said. “You don’t have to actually go in there.”

Mike opened his mouth to say that he did have to go in there, that he knew that he was the bait and keeping the animatronics busy, but he stopped. He studied Chris’s face, how the gruff expression was softened and the hazel eyes were tired. He heard Chris’s voice, the desperation under the quietness. He noticed the tight grip on the steering wheel, the whiteness of Chris’s knuckles.

 _Because he cares,_ Mike realized. _He doesn’t want me going in because he cares._ He swallowed, throat tight. “Chris…”

“You don’t owe this place anything, Mike,” the man said softly. “You don’t need to do this to yourself.”

But Mike did. Mike didn’t know why, but he felt like he needed this. He needed to go in there, to experience the horrors of being hunted by the things he had once called friends. He needed this, needed to know what he had done to them. It was closure, but there was something else that he just had to do, though he was clueless as of what. “I know,” the teen responded, lying through his teeth. “But I want to.”

Chris sighed. “You’ve got a fucking death wish, kid. There are easier ways to kill yourself.”

Mike felt his stomach twist. _I know._ He swallowed. “Yeah,” he managed to say.

The janitor leaned back and rubbed his face, unaware of Mike’s expression. “Fine,” Chris muttered. “Just be careful.”

Before Mike wanted to stay in the truck longer. Now he just wanted out. He opened the door and slid out, forcing his legs not to buckle. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

Mike skittered to the front door. He felt himself already sweating, freezing against his neck. Chris didn’t know, he didn’t know. Chris didn’t and couldn’t know. Mike reminded himself to steel his expressions at those comments in the future, and also that Chris wasn’t trying to be mean. It was just Chris being Chris.

When the front door to the pizzeria was open and shut, Mike disappearing behind the glass, Chris dropped his head on the steering wheel and groaned. “Too attached,” he muttered. “I’m way too attached.”

It was going to hurt like hell when… No, _if_ Mike died, and Chris had a feeling he wouldn’t recover like he had before. If Mike died, Chris knew he wouldn’t ever be the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come.
> 
> Please note that there might be slight character design changes in the future. I've always had a hard time picturing the Children, and being horrible at drawing has made it even harder to solidify them.
> 
> Also, isn't it nice that Chris has grown a conscience and that Mike's becoming a littler happier? C:
> 
> (Thank you, everyone, who commented on how to correctly describe Layla. Again, I didn't mean any ignorance or offence. I'm very grateful for the answers and will be sure to use the advice in the future when describing various characters)


	15. Dig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan finally strikes something after digging into Mike's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of grey days last week, so I wasn't really working on this. The weather's been alternating between snow and rain, so I haven't been able to go outside for a walk to clear my head or anything. Hopefully the weather will perk up soon (doubt it) and hopefully my mood might as well (again, doubt it)
> 
> This is a really dialogue heavy chapter. The next one's looking to be the same. You understand why I had issues with this, yes? I didn't just want to leave you guys with a preview, so I decided to wait another day and finish it. Enjoy!

Logan sipped on his coffee. He was almost out, but he would have to go down and get some more if he was going to keep himself awake. Petunia was probably in bed by now, because it had been getting late the last time Logan had looked at the clock.

He had been stuffed in his office for hours, most of his days being taken up by his digging. Papers were scattered on his desk, no more than usual, and his computer screen was lit. The cream carpet beneath his socks was worn down from the wheels of his chair and his pacing. His little lamp was lit, brighter than the computer screen.

“Shouldn’t take too long…” Logan muttered, echoing his words from Friday night. He huffed. “I jinxed myself.”

Mike was much harder to find out about than Logan had thought. He had assumed that Mike would have gotten more coverage after The Bite, but that wasn’t the case at all. In fact, the only indication of Mike’s existence after The Bite was a little box on the next paper, downsized to a tiny square in the corner on the front page with an update on his condition.

No wonder so many people thought Mike was dead, they didn’t pay attention to the rest of the paper.

The Missing Children had overtaken the papers once again after The Bite. As much as it pained Logan to think of the poor children, the massive coverage on them blocked any trail to Mike out. Papers upon papers had the kids in it, telling the people what they were like in the hopes that someone – some believed that the children had been abducted and were being held for ransom – would grow a heart and turn in any information they had on their whereabouts.

Mike, however, was labeled simply as “the Bite Victim” and forgotten.

Logan had checked out numerous papers from the library, and they were all the same thing. The attention had been shifted to the missing kids and Foxy, some calling attention to the questionable size and design hazards of the animatronic, Mike apparently being deemed too boring for the papers. There was only so much a newspaper could work with when the victim was unconscious and the parents were tightlipped.

But speaking of Mike’s parents…

Simon Schmidt, as listed in the paper, didn’t appear much on the internet. There were plenty of Simon Schmidt’s in the United States, and without a photo or description in the papers, Logan didn’t know which one was Mike’s father. His mother, listed in the paper as Elaine, wasn’t described either. They were both labeled as worried and distraught parents, scared for their son’s life.

There was, however, one article that caught Logan’s eye.

A Simon Schmidt, nineteen at the time, had been accused of abducting a young woman, Lilian Brooks, in his hometown in Kentucky. Apparently, Simon had a string of violence in the town and liked to, in short, sleep around with any girl he persuaded to. The parents of the victim, Rupert and Norma, said that Simon would snoop around the chapel were Lilian would be cleaning and praying at night, and that he was the one who kidnapped her.

It was a common, sad story, but something about it made Logan’s stomach twist.

He followed the trail on that one, finding more knots in his stomach and more questions. Simon, despite much outcry, had been taken off of the list of suspects after an insignificant amount of evidence and an apparently solid alibi. He had left Kentucky soon afterwards. Lilian, unfortunately, was never found, officially declared dead only a few years ago.

There was a picture of Lilian in the article. She was a pretty young woman in the photo, smiling brightly in a frilly dress with a little dog. Despite the picture being a polaroid, her description was given. Her skin was flawless and milky white, her hair long and a deep brown that matched her eyes. She wasn’t too tall, an average height for women, and had been last seen at the church she worshipped and cleaned.

Logan still couldn’t find a picture of Simon.

Logan tried to be positive, he really did, but the feeling in his gut was too strong to ignore. Even when he set the papers and notes aside with the information on it, the cold sweat on the back of his neck wouldn’t go away. He kept returning to it, combing through the paragraphs over and over until his heart hurt and his eyes ached.

Now he sat there, contemplating whether or not he should label Simon Schmidt, accused kidnapper of Lilian Brooks, as Mike’s father.

The blond ran a hand through his hair. If this man really was Mike’s father, which Logan hoped to every deity out there that he wasn’t, then Petunia’s gut feeling about the “quiet home” was right. Simon was labeled as violent and cruel, and Logan couldn’t imagine who would even think of having a child with him.

If they had the choice.

Logan stood up and began pacing again. Fresh sweat was beginning to overcome the dried spots on his shirt. It could explain Mike’s behavior, the skittishness and fear he expressed around basically everyone. It could even explain his current residence; no abused child wanted to risk anyone with a clean slate blabbering off to the police. It could explain everything Petunia had pointed out, everything that Logan could see now.

It could explain why Mike was on a missing person’s list.

Mike’s school picture had popped up when Logan searched for any local boys by Mike’s name. The town, Springwater, wasn’t too far away, but a good amount of hours even by bus. The paper said that Mike had ran away at sixteen, listed his features and such, and then the number of his father. Logan, of course, didn’t call it. He should, being a responsible parent and all, but he couldn’t. Not after seeing the article about Lilian.

And there was still not picture of Simon.

This would become personal to Petunia quickly, Logan knew it would. He had spent years kissing away her tears, cradling her in bed when she woke up from a nightmare, and listening to her fearful rambles about the things she went through. If she was right, and Logan had a growing feeling that she was, then she would rip open her fragile wounds for Mike to protect him. Hell, she may even take matters into her own hands. Logan knew she had tried that before.

And this would become personal for Logan. Even though he hadn’t grown up in the kind of environment that Mike possibly did, he felt incredibly connected to the boy. Mike was a good kid, one that had grown on him surprisingly fast, and a kid that needed help. Logan wouldn’t stand by and watch Mike struggle, he refused to.

But what if he was wrong? What if he made a horrible error and asked Mike about the wrong man? What if he made Mike paranoid, because Logan knew he would be if his boss was looking into his past? What if Mike was going through something else and they had jumped the gun straight to running from an abusive household?

The man sighed. Whatever the reason was for Mike running away, if Logan happened to be wrong about the identity of his father, something needed to be said.

Logan went to take another sip of his coffee, only to see that the mug was empty. He sighed, but it was for the best. He needed sleep and he needed Petunia to be there. No amount of coffee could keep him away long enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come
> 
> (Springwater's a fictional town in the scenario btw) ((Also look for tweaks in past chapters and future chapters because I'm never satisfied with myself and I'm always tired))


	16. Shards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A somewhat rough Wednesday has Chris reflecting on just what he's gotten himself into, leading to some unpleasant memories he'd rather stay buried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to come out on Sunday, but 2-3 years of procrastinating getting new glasses could only be held off for so long. I got my eyes dilated (the people at the Steak and Shake probably got a little suspicious of me and my dad) so I couldn't work on my laptop at all, and I'm still adjusting to my new prescription.
> 
> Religion is mentioned in this chapter and I will add a tag for it. I should have added it earlier, but it kept slipping my mind. I'd like to reiterate the tags of abuse and panic attacks due to Mike not being the one meant for them at the moment.

“You sure you don’t want to stay at my place tonight?” Chris asked. “It’s got the perks of not being infested with rats.”

Mike shook his head. “It’s fine,” he said. “I… I need some space.”

Chris could understand that. Honestly, he needed some space too. It had been a hell of a week and he needed at least a day to fully process. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mike.”

“Bye,” Mike said, opening the door. He slipped out, shutting the door, and then he was gone.

Chris drove away from the curb.

It was Thursday now, Mike just having got off of the Wednesday shift. For anyone else, the week seemed to be flying by, but it was crawling for Chris like it usually did when there was a night guard. Mike was handling himself much better than last week, but it barely put Chris’s nerves at ease. How could he when the last guard who had mastered his job fucked up? Mike being a twitchy little teenager just made it worse.

 _At least he doesn’t have a new bruise_ , Chris thought, because that was the second upside to Mike working there. The first was that the kid wasn’t dead.

He pulled alongside the curb to apartment a few minutes later. He felt a little relieved that he would be able to have some time alone, but it felt weird without Mike being next to him. The kid had certainly become a fixture in the spare bedroom and couch, so it would be strange walking into an empty apartment.

Chris mentally cursed as he walked inside. He was too fucking attached and he was proving it even now.

It felt good to be home. Chris kicked off his boots with a huff and shrugged off his jacket. He tossed it on the couch, then went to the kitchen. Before he would procrastinate, draw out going to the pizzeria to check on the night guards by getting something to eat or something, but Chris found himself waking up before his alarm and running a few lights now that Mike was on duty.

The janitor forewent a beer for now, same with coffee. He was tired and he just wanted a snack before going back to bed. He grabbed a water bottle instead, snatching come celery from the bottom drawer before shutting the fridge.

As he ate, Chris went through the week. It seemed pretty straight forward no matter how many times he tried to change the angle. The new night guard was a jumpy kid who was the Bite victim, and now Chris was basically looking after him. Chris had taken Mike home to keep an eye on the kid’s neck, then practically bullied him into staying over because he didn’t like Mike living in a building that looked like a rotten house of cards.

Yep, just what he wanted: getting attached to a night guard.

Chris took a more vicious bite of a celery stick. God, he was too deep in this. Mike had dragged him off the sidelines like a puppy breaking a stick off of a branch to play with, and now Chris was too deep. He was furious with himself, constantly reminding himself of the messes he had cleaned up and that Mike could easily become one, but it did nothing against the attachment he felt towards the kid.

Then Logan had said that he was looking into Mike’s past, and yesterday’s apparent bombshell hadn’t helped Chris get any distance from Mike.

Chris wasn’t stupid. He knew for a fact that something bad was happening with Mike and his family. He didn’t know what it was, but a kid like Mike wouldn’t be on his own if something good was happening at home. He should bring it up, be a responsible adult that Logan wasn’t being, but knew what it was like being poked at for a shitty past.

He sighed, taking a swig of water. He ran a hand through his hair, exhausted. Logan said he had a feeling he had found Mike’s father, but Chris held off. Tried to, at least. Jumping the gun, especially on abuse, would not help him whatsoever, but there weren’t any good explanations to point him in another direction. Petunia said that she knew that it was Mike’s father, and Logan was leaning towards that heavily.

And honestly, so was Chris.

He wondered what all Mike was running from if Logan was right. Petunia had told Chris a few short stories on her past, about how she leapt from her bedroom window for the last time and lived as a homeless girl surviving from the charity of a few friends. Did Mike jump out of his bedroom window like she did, surviving on the charity of others while in fear of being found and dragged back to his parents?

Or was he like Chris, kicked out for rejecting the life his parents had built around him?

Chris didn’t want to think about it, because it was hard to stop thinking. There wasn’t anything to distract him from thinking when it happened, nothing that would just make things worse. He snapped a celery stick in half, but it just made him think of the sounds Mike’s bones would make if he was stuffed into a suit and when another neighborhood kid had broken their leg when he was a kid.

The neighborhood kid had died from cancer years later. Chris remembered his dad blaming him for the death, saying that the one night Chris had gone to bed early had been the missing prayers that had killed the boy.

“I didn’t,” Chris blurted, almost snarling.

He hadn’t killed the boy _fuck he didn’t even remember the kid’s name_ but he was killing Mike.

Chris grabbed at his hair. No, no, he wasn’t killing Mike. Why the fuck would he even think that? Mike was making the choice to keep working there, no one was forcing him. It wasn’t Chris’s fault that he couldn’t change Mike’s mind, it wasn’t. How could Chris be responsible for a stubborn brat?

Fuck, what was he even doing? What was fucking happening? Maybe he needed a drink after all.

Chris went for the cabinet, grabbing a glass with shaky hands. He hadn’t freaked out like this in weeks, not since the last guard died. He stopped for a second, remembering that he drank from cans and not bottles. He huffed, breath uneasy, and went to put it back. The glass slipped from his hand and shattered on the counter.

_Mom had dropped her glass of tea and broke into tears. Dad just started screaming at him._

“Shit!” Chris barked. He couldn’t fucking deal with this right now.

_His parents couldn’t deal with him either, not when it slipped that he didn’t believe anymore. He hadn’t believed in months. Dad wanted to deal with him using the belt. Mom couldn’t even look at him._

Chris could see his reflection in the shards, just a little. He didn’t want to see it – couldn’t – and went to shove them away.

_“Christian, you either apologize right now or leave. I will not stand for my son saying these horrible things.”_

_“You’re kidding me! You’d actually kick me out?!”_

_“If I have to, yes.”_

_“Ronald, please, he doesn’t mean it.”_

_“Of course he does, Judy! Our son’s been led astray and he needs a hard lesson to find his way back if he won’t listen to me!”_

_“You know what, dad? Fine, I’ll go! You’ve made it obvious that you love your fairytales more than you love me!”_

_“Christian, just apologize to your father!”_

_“No! I won’t live with people who lied to me my entire life and put some fairytale over me! I’m getting my stuff and leaving!”_

_“Then get out! Get your things and leave until you come to your senses and don’t come back until you do!”_

_“Then I’m never come back!”_

“Ah!” Chris yelped, recoiling. His hand stung. His lower back cracked against the kitchen island. “What the-?!”

A shard of glass had pierced his left palm. Blood dribbled past it, a droplet escaping onto the floor.

Chris stared at his hand, sucking in deep breaths. He didn’t move, his body frozen in place. The glass shards sparkled faintly on the counter, the messy cleanup leaving them scattered. The water bottle had been knocked over, a puddle on the floor. A broken celery stick was near it.

“Fuck,” Chris whispered.

He managed to pull himself from the kitchen to get the first aid. He didn’t waste time in getting the shard out, Chris just ripped it from his hand. The cut wasn’t deep, but it was painful. He went through the motions like clockwork. Mike’s hand problem had certainly given him practice in doing a quick job.

He left the bathroom a bit later, hand bandaged and shard in the trash. He didn’t care if it was a hazard, he just wanted it gone. Chris trudged back to the kitchen to clean up the mess, because he knew he’d just get pissed off if he woke up to it later.

After the mess was cleaned, the shards and celery in the trash and the puddle dried up, Chris went to his room. He stopped by the spare for a minute, reaching to open it and check on Mike before remembering that Mike wasn’t here. Chris didn’t have the energy to feel angry at himself and simply moved on.

The man quietly slid into bed. The sheets were cold, cold even when Chris dragged the covers over him. His hand hurt like hell. There was a speck of blood peeking through the bandage.

“I know how it feels, kid,” he whispered to the ceiling. “I know how it feels.”

He needed to talk to Mike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chris didn't grow up in a good environment either.
> 
> This isn't meant to be offensive. I live in North America and in a state that's pretty religious, so it's been a big piece of my early life. Hell, I was baptized Presbyterian as a baby. Chris's parents using their religion as an abusive tool is not a representation of all Christians, it's simply what I've seen and heard growing up. This is a very important piece of Chris's character, so I won't be changing it.
> 
> If you have any questions about the AU, or even me, feel free to ask in the comments here or swing by my tumblr if you feel better being anonymous. Link's on my profile. For now, more to come.


	17. Orange Polish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike's time to process the week is interrupted by a sudden visit from a very distraught Miss Lady.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't get over the fact that so many people are reading and enjoying my AU. I really appreciate everyone reading and/or commenting, it makes me happy seeing that people are liking this. Thank you all for your support!
> 
> I wanted to get back to show off Miss Lady again, so I decided to make this its own chapter because it wouldn't fit in with Mike's Thursday shift. Plus I'm having a bit of trouble tying the next two chapters together, so I'm trying to by myself more tweaking time.
> 
> Mentions of prostitution in this chapter.

Mike had been sitting on his bed and tapping his blade with his toe for nearly ten minutes, wondering what to do.

His head was still spinning so fast from last week that he felt like it was going to fall off. He still felt the weight of anxiety clinging to his feet despite being in his own space, the constant social interaction still weighing him. He had never been so social before. Mike knew it would go away soon, he hoped it would, but for now he had to deal with it.

Deal with it. That was what Mike was wondering about: just how to deal with it, because he was suddenly very reluctant to cut or bite himself.

True to Logan’s word, Petunia had offered Mike sewing lessons. He had been over to their house every day, sitting on the couch while Petunia taught him how to properly patch up clothes and a few tricks of her own. The needle had poked through Mike’s bandages a few times before Petunia finally had to force him to wear a thimble. Besides the pricks to his fingers, Mike found himself enjoying sewing.

He also had dinner every night at their home. Mike could never finish his meal, his stomach filling within minutes of eating, so Logan and Petunia would make sure that he had his leftovers in a container to bring home. There was always something in the fridge now, safe from the mice. He even brought something with him on his shift, something Petunia had suggested, which Mike couldn’t deny. They let him stay in the spare bedroom after dinner and games so he could rest before his shift.

Mike hadn’t been in his apartment for days, and so comforting yet so strange to be back in it.

And now he had no idea what to do with himself.

The need was there, like it always was, but Mike held himself back from giving in to it. He had a needle and thread in his bag, but he didn’t reach for it. He had no idea what to do now that he was safe to use his blade again. He had to settle for sewing before, but now…

_What do I do?_

There was another urge peeking out from the one that dominated his skin, one that Mike was terrified of. He had to urge to go downstairs or outside to call Chris or Logan and ask them what to do. That would mean telling the truth about what he did to himself, disappointing and disgusting them, but Mike felt the urge to do it tapping at the base of his skull. Half of him didn’t want to, didn’t want to reveal one of his darkest secrets to people he had met just last week, but…

_I don’t know what to do._

There was a sudden pounding on the door. Mike let out a startled yelp. He slipped off of his bed, careful of not grazing the blade, and scurried out to get the door. He wondered if it was the building manager finally coming to put in a phone.

When Mike opened the door, he gaped. “Miss Lady?”

Miss Lady shoved past him. “Hey."

Mike blinked. “Hi?”

The woman flopped onto the couch with a loud grunt, kicking her feet. Her feet were clear of her heels and covered in blisters, nearly all of them looking like they had burst at one point. Her hair and clothes were in disarray, like she had been sleeping for hours, and tear tracks had dragged her makeup down her face.

Mike shut the door and went to the couch. “What happened?” he asked. He had seen Miss Lady on her bad nights, when the yelling turned to screaming and she came to his room to hide away, but nothing like this.

The woman huffed. “What hasn’t happened?” She reached for her pocket, then swore. “Forgot my damn stash.”

The teen shuffled in place. “Do you want something to drink? Eat?”

Miss Lady shrugged. “Water’s fine.”

Mike went into the kitchen and grabbed two glasses, then a rag. He put them under the sink and ran the water, glancing back at Miss Lady. Her eyes were shut, face scrunched like she had a headache. Mike subconsciously searched for a bruise on her face now that her makeup was gone, but found none. He just hoped that her new boyfriend hadn’t hit her anywhere else.

 _Or_ , Mike began to realize as he grabbed the glasses, _ex-boyfriend_.

Miss Lady mumbled something when Mike got close, probably a thanks, and grabbed her glass. She tipped it back and began to chug it like she hadn’t drank anything in days.

The teen sat down next to her. He held out the rag. “For your makeup,” he said.

She looked at him for a moment, then took the rag. She dipped it into her water, then wiped her face. Her mascara and eyeliner were smearing, her blush being rubbed away. “Thanks, it was starting to feel like shit.”

Mike said nothing as she cleaned herself up. Soon the rag was dirtied with black and peach pink, Miss Lady tossing it on the coffee table before going back to suck down her water. Mike looked at the skin that peeked through her torn jeans, finding fading yellow and brown bruises. Nothing seemed to be new, but he still wasn’t sure.

“Sorry.”

The teen startled and ripped his eyes away from her legs. He looked at Miss Lady, confused. “Huh?”

She sighed. “I basically just broke into your apartment after you just got off of night shift. That’s shitty of me.”

Mike stared. Miss Lady wasn’t one for verbal apologies, or apologies in general that she meant. “It’s fine. I’m not really tired,” he lied, because he was really tired.

“Bull,” the woman snorted. She set her glass down on the table. “God, I feel like shit.”

Mike took another sip of his drink. “What’s happened?” he asked again.

Miss Lady rubbed her face. “You know my boyfriend, the one I was so damn happy about? He’s fucking married; with a kid and everything. He’s been banging me because his wife’s pregnant again.”

Mike blinked. “Wow.” At least he hadn’t been hitting her, right?

“He told me right after we were done having sex. He socked me in the gut after I told him we were done and took my month’s rent from the table.”

Mike really needed to stop getting his hopes up. “That’s awful,” he said. He felt really bad for Miss Lady, and not just because she had lost her rent. Mike didn’t remember seeing her so happy.

“Yeah, it is.” Miss Lady lightly banged her head on the back of the couch. “God, I don’t want to have sex with the landlord again, but that’s the only way I can get out of this month and then some.”

“I could help,” came from Mike’s mouth almost instantly. “I can split my paycheck with you.”

The woman huffed and shook her head. “No. I hate owing people shit, especially money.”

Mike gave her a light glare. “You won’t owe me anything.” He understood, but seriously…

“Keep your shit,” Miss Lady snapped. “He’s an easy fuck, I’ll be done in under a half hour.”

“Eww.” Mike made a face. “Can we stop talking about the landlord please?”

She snorted. “Fine by me.”

It was quiet again. Someone was arguing in one of the apartments above.

“I’m so stupid,” Miss Lady whispered. Mike looked at her again. Her amber eyes were teary. “I actually thought Ernie and I were a thing. I was actually considering getting off coke and stopping my job.”

That must have been what the yelling was about last week. Miss Lady must have been having a fight with one of her dealers. Mike didn’t say anything, because what could he say? He had never gone through anything like that before.

Miss Lady sniffed. “Well, fuck him,” she growled. “I make more money doing nasty shit than anything else. I didn’t need some gilded dickhead using me as his side chick.”

Mike shifted. “Are you… Are you going to tell his wife?”

“I would if I could,” she said. “I don’t know who she is or what she looks like.” Miss Lady picked at her nail polish. Her nails had been repainted, shiny. “Poor girl. I should have left a hickey where she could see it.”

The teen looked at her with big eyes. “What are you going to do?”

“Go back to my usual schedule,” she answered, catching what he meant. “Nothing else to do.” Miss Lady looked at his hands. “Who patched up your hands?”

Mike glanced down at them on instinct. “Chris,” he said. “The janitor.”

“Ah.” Miss Lady sat up a bit more. “He’s not doing anything to you, right?”

Mike gaped at her, shocked. “No!” he exclaimed. His face heated quickly. “Eww, no, that’s gross!”

She let out a quiet chuckle and waved at him. “Relax, I’m kidding.”

Mike crossed his arms, face burning and eyes hard. “Yeah, you better be.” He shuddered at the very thought. “Eww.”

“I like getting you angry, pup,” she said. “It’s better than seeing you all mopey.”

Mike gave her a confused look at that. She called him pup sometimes, but only when she was really upset. He studied her face again, finding more now that she had gotten out what was bothering her. He saw the creases on her face, the distant look in her eyes, the way she was slumped and defeated.

She looked...heartbroken.

The raven-head looked to the kitchen, then back to her. “My boss has been inviting me over for dinner,” he told her quietly. “I have some leftovers if you want to share.”

Miss Lady turned her head, skeptical. “Your boss has you over for dinner?” she asked, raising a brow.

“Yeah, I still can’t believe it.” Mike shrugged. “Do you want some? Miss Petunia’s cooking is really good.”

“…What do you have?”

“She made breakfast for dinner yesterday.”

“So, pancakes,” Miss Lady said flatly. She snorted. “You have a weird obsession with those things, honestly. It's weird.” She sighed. “Fine. It’s morning anyways.”

Mike smiled brightly. “Okay.” He stood up. “She gave me a little bag of chocolate chips and whipped cream if you want some.”

“What are you, six?” There wasn’t any heat behind her words. In fact, she was smiling a little. “Alright, I’ll bite. Top my stack with both, pup.”

Mike pulled the containers out of the fridge. Chris had let it slip to Logan and Petunia that Mike loved pancakes, which ended up with them sending two containers of leftover pancakes with him. He pulled the bag of chocolate chips and can of whipped cream out as well, bumping the door shut and setting it all on the counter.

“This might be stretching my luck, but do you have anything for blisters?” Miss Lady asked. “My feet are killing me.”

The teen looked back. “Yeah. I’ll get it for you in a minute.”

Miss Lady let out a relieved breath. “Thank fuck.”

Mike couldn’t help but giggle.

“I heard that, you little shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come
> 
> If you have questions about the AU or maybe even me, feel free to ask in the comments or swing by my tumblr (link's on my profile).


	18. Rabbit Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris is acting weird, and Mike isn't liking it. Apparently they need to talk, but Mike's going to have to survive a certain rabbit's antics first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaahh, you guys are so awesome! I'm over the rainbow with how much you're all enjoying this. Thank you all for your support!
> 
> Real quick: if you left a comment a while back and I didn't respond, it's because I feel weird finally responding after like a month of it being there. I'm not being mean, I swear, I'm just way too shy to poke at an old comment. I'm sorry, I really do appreciate your words, I'm just super shy!

“There’s more food in the fridge if you get hungry,” Mike said as he zipped up his jacket.

“Ugh,” Miss Lady groaned, rolling over on the couch. “Those pancakes are still weighing me down, kid. I’ll take a hard pass on whatever else you’ve got in there.”

“More for me then, I guess.”

“Bullshit, you still look like you’re going to throw up.”

Mike couldn’t argue with that.

Miss Lady made it clear that she wasn’t leaving after they had eaten, doing so by essentially taking the couch hostage, so Mike had gotten an extra blanket and one of his pillows for her to sleep on the couch. He had planned on giving her the bed, but Miss Lady had reached her limit to accepting charity and had promptly refused. Deep down, Mike couldn’t deny his relief, because he so desperately wanted to sleep in his own bed.

Both had them had slept most of the day. There wasn’t much evidence from either side during the times when they had woken up.

Miss Lady still seemed to be comfortable where she was at, so Mike didn’t say anything. He didn’t mind her staying while he was gone. It was stupid –her words– but he trusted her.

“I haven’t thrown up lately,” he told her. “I think that’s a good sign.”

“Yeah, it means you’re gonna get fat on those cheeks.” The woman yawned. “I might be gone by the time you get back, but no promises. Your couch is a lot more comfortable than mine.”

Mike looked at her like she had grown a third leg. “Really?” That couch was like someone had put cloth over concrete, and Mike had experienced that feeling enough.

“Yes, really.” Miss Lady huffed. “Appreciate this thing, kid. At least you don’t have any mysterious stains that won’t go away.”

Mike made a face. “Eww.”

“Grow up a little,” she said, though she was smiling faintly. “Go catch your ride, kid.”

The teen blinked, then caught the quiet rumbling of Chris’s truck. He grabbed his bag by the door and swung it over his shoulder. “See you,” he told her.

Mike was shivering the moment he opened the door. The night air was definitely colder than yesterday. He rushed to the truck, hoping that Chris wouldn’t bring up the point of his thin jacket. As much as Mike hated to admit it, he needed a new one, but with his occupation, he wasn’t sure how long that coat would stick around.

He quickly clamored into the truck and shut the door. The heating hit him instantly, and Mike couldn’t help but sigh in relief.

“You know, you wouldn’t be so cold if you had a thicker jacket.”

Mike gave Chris a weak glare. “I like my jacket,” he mumbled.

Chris snorted. “Yeah, and I guess you like hypothermia too. I heard it’s the new trend among kids these days.”

“Get hip, Chris,” the teen said.

The janitor gave him a disgusted look. “First off, never say those words to me ever again. Second, stop repeating things that come out of Logan’s mouth.”

Mike’s frequent visits to Logan’s house had him hearing a lot of Logan’s weird sayings, and Mike found out that he really liked repeating them. “But he’s funny,” he said.

“Do you want to walk, Mike? Because I’ll make you walk.”

“But you just said the thing about my jacket,” Mike said, verging on faking a pout.

“And you seem too attached to let it go.” Chris huffed. “I already have to deal with Logan on a regular basis, so I’ll kick you out while we’re moving if you repeat another damn thing that comes out of his mouth.”

Mike snickered. “Okay.”

Chris noticed something. “You look like you had fun,” he commented. “Did your druggie neighbor stop by or something?”

“Um, yeah,” the teen responded awkwardly. “Her, uh, boyfriend and her broke up and he took her month’s rent.”

The janitor hissed. “Okay, I don’t like her, but that’s shitty.”

Mike rubbed at his wrist. Hadn’t done anything last night, not after Miss Lady had come by. “She was really upset. I shared some of Miss Petunia’s leftovers with her and let her stay over.”

“Of course you did.” Chris idly stretched, his fingers linking to crack each other. “At least Petunia’s cooking isn’t going to waste.”

Mike noticed the bandage wrapped around Chris’s hand. “What happened to your hand?” he blurted.

Chris let out a questioned hum, then glanced at his hand. He shrugged. “I dropped a glass, got careless with cleaning it up. It’s nothing.”

Careless? “But…” _You’re the janitor._

“It’s fine, Mike,” Chris said. His voice was firm.

Mike decided to shut up.

Chris was very quiet on the ride over, and Mike was steadily getting more and more anxious about it. The radio did nothing to ease his nerves.

Whatever Chris was upset about, because Mike could tell that he was upset, it had to do with his hand. It had to be. Chris, getting careless with cleaning up glass? That just didn’t sound right, especially with Chris’s background with cleaning up blood and guts. It sounded so farfetched and awkward.

It sounded like Chris was lying to him.

They got to the pizzeria fairly fast in Mike’s opinion. He wasn’t sure why, but he just wanted to get his shift over with. He was strangely confident this week for some reason. Maybe it was because he had been spending so much time with Chris and everyone else, but Mike wouldn’t complain too much. It was just so strange.

“Mike.”

The guard stopped. He had his hand on the door handle. He looked back at Chris. The man looked…strangely conflicted, like there was something that had to be said but something that he didn’t want to say.

“After your shift,” Chris said, “we’re going to have a talk.”

Mike felt his stomach tighten. His confidence withered away swiftly, replaced with the fear Mike had gotten all too comfortable with over the years. “A talk?” he echoed. “About what?”

“Things,” Chris said shortly. “Just finish your shift like normal.”

Mike wanted to ask where all the faith Chris suddenly had in him came from, but he just nodded. “Okay.”

The tightness in his stomach didn’t leave even after he got inside to lock the doors.

\- - - - -

Mike just barely closed the door on Freddy. There was the sound of the bear’s hand hitting the door, and then the laughter as Freddy moved. Again, Mike wasn’t sure how Freddy got to the main room so fast after his attempt at getting into the office was thwarted, but he didn’t have much time to think on it.

The animatronics had been pretty aggressive throughout the week. Mike was torn between feeling bad for upsetting them and feeling annoyed at their relentlessness. Of course, the guilt was stronger than the annoyance, but it didn’t change much. The animatronics were still hunting him and Mike was still on the opposite end of this horror show. He couldn’t afford to stumble as badly as he usually did, not when he had so many people waiting for him.

And speaking of that, Mike had to remind himself that he wasn’t hallucinating that. There were people that actually looked forward to seeing him, people that _liked_ him. Before, Mike wouldn’t have minded too much being stuffed, but now, now with Chris and everyone else, Mike didn’t want to be stuffed whatsoever.

Mike had been feeling strange for days now. He felt…happy. He was enjoying being around Chris and staying at his apartment. He was enjoying eating at Logan’s house and sewing with Petunia. He was enjoying playing board games with Rosie and Caitlyn. Mike was _enjoying_ , and it was so bizarre that it made him giddy. It was still with him now, even with the threat of a horrific death knocking on the door. The feeling had Mike in a twist of discomfort and joy, because he could barely remember feeling something other than miserable.

...What the hell was that sound?

Mike checked both the lights. From what he knew so far, Chica was still in the kitchen, Freddy was down the hallway, Foxy was almost out of the Cove, and Bonnie…

His stomach dropped. He hadn’t checked the left door for a while. Mike rushed to the left door and pressed the light, but Bonnie wasn’t there. He fought from bringing up the monitor, and suddenly he knew what Bonnie was doing. Mike scowled, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment, but he went back to listening for Freddy’s sound cues.

Or he would have, if that annoying thumping sound wasn’t drowning it out.

Mike checked on Foxy again, relieved that the fox hadn’t moved. It wasn’t Foxy, Chica was still making something, and the right hallway was completely silent. Bonnie was the culprit, Mike knew, but where was he?

The teen bit his lip. He couldn’t waste power, so he had a choice to make. Either he could take the gamble of wasting a sliver of power finding out where Bonnie was and hope he got lucky, or live with the thumping the rest of the night and take the higher risk of getting caught by Freddy.

Mike frowned. _These options suck._ He took in a deep breath, then flipped up the monitor and to camera 5.

His gamble had paid off. Bonnie was there, and still loudly kicking the table in the backroom. The rabbit noticed the camera light flicking on, the rosy eyes darting to the camera, and finally ceased his kicking. He looked at the camera almost innocently, like he hadn’t just been annoying Mike, and walked towards it.

The sky-blues narrowed. What was Bonnie doing?

Bonnie gave the camera a sly grin, and then his hand came over it.

“Hey!” Mike yelped. He flipped off the monitor and checked the right door. No one yet, and Freddy hadn’t laughed either.

Chris hadn’t mentioned the animatronics breaking the cameras, had he? Mike couldn’t remember if he had, but it seemed far too important to forget. He certainly would have written it down if he ran the risk of his brain failing him. If that was the case, what the hell was Bonnie doing?

Mike flipped the monitor back up. Bonnie had moved his hand, revealing his face. He still had that dumb smirk on his face. The camera went dark again.

The teen frowned, confused. _What is he doing?_ He flicked back to Foxy, tensing when he saw that the pirate was posed to run, and listened for Freddy. He put the tablet down for a minute to get the door when he heard the bear’s laugh, closing it just in time. It seemed Freddy hadn’t been prepared for Mike to be so quick in his confusion.

The thumping started again. Mike groaned quietly. What was this game Bonnie was playing? He flipped the monitor back up, gave Foxy another quick look, then went to Bonnie’s camera. Again, the rabbit had moved his hand to reveal that smug face, and once again he covered the lens.

Were they playing peekaboo? Because it seemed like they were playing peekaboo.

Mike heard Foxy’s footsteps. He lunged and hit the left door button. He grimaced at the powerful hits against the metal door, and at the power he had certainly lost, and waited for Foxy to walk away before opening the door.

The thumping, of course, started up again.

“Ugh,” Mike growled, flicking the camera back up. “Are you kidding me, Bonnie? You know I’m not five anymore, right?”

Bonnie had moved his hand away again, but this time his eyes had turned black. His pupils, just tiny white dots now, burned through the camera and right into Mike’s chest. His grin didn’t seem smug anymore; more blood lusting than anything.

Mike nearly dropped the tablet. He switched it off instead. His legs felt weak and his heart was pounding. He didn’t know how the animatronics were doing that, the trick being used more than once to scare him, but those eyes had the power to cut him in half. It reminded Mike of the times when he would go too deep, when he would hallucinate and feel his blood boiling beneath his skin.

It wasn’t a trick of the light, Mike knew, but what were they doing? He didn’t remember their eyes ever doing that as a child, but maybe they had and he just didn’t remember? Mike’s memory wasn’t too reliable, but again, it just seemed too important to forget. Then again, if Mike was hallucinating his eyes doing the same thing sometimes, then they had to have done it before, right? Where else would he have gotten a visual that repeated itself?

The lights suddenly went off. Mike gasped loudly, the tablet dropping from his hands and hitting the floor with a loud _crack_. His head jerked around, eyes reflecting the darkness as he searched for light. There was none to be found, only darkness where the monsters were hiding.

Bonnie had been getting him to waste power. Mike could have powered through it and continued with his pattern, but Bonnie had played his trick well.

He had five minutes. Five minutes was all he needed to hold out for, but where could he go? If he somehow avoided the main trio, Foxy would definitely catch him. He couldn’t hide under the tables in the main room, they were too smart for that. There was the vents, but Mike could tell even with the assistance of the table in the office that he couldn’t reach the ceiling.

There were footsteps coming down the left hall.

 _Screw it._ Mike dropped on all fours and crawled under the desk. He turned and pressed his back against the wall firmly, shoving the old speakers in front of him. He knew the animatronics could see well in the dark, so his natural camouflage would already be a flimsy defense. His hands dove inside of his bag, scrambling quietly for something that he could use to defend himself.

His hand closed around a flimsy pocket knife that he had found years ago. The blade was dull and loose, a pathetic weapon, but as the footsteps got closer, Mike knew he didn’t have much of a choice. He flicked the blade up and held it low to the ground. As much as it pained him to do it, even like this, Mike would have the element of surprise when stabbing Freddy. He faintly wondered if he could jam the blade into one of Freddy's eyes, seeing as he didn't have many other choices to go for.

The footsteps stopped right outside the door. Mike shut his eyes tightly, like it would do something.

Freddy wasn’t fooled by Mike’s disappearing act. Mike could hear Freddy walk to the desk, the faint creaking as the bear dropped into a crouch. The sound of the speakers sliding away against the tiles scratched at the teen’s ears. Mike felt his eyes burn behind his lids, and he forced himself to open his eyes to face Freddy.

It wasn’t Freddy.

Bonnie was crouched in front of the desk, his rose eyes bright and glowing faintly against the dark. He was staring at Mike blankly, like he had forgotten why he was in the office. Mike could smell oil, guitar grease, and something else that made his skin crawl.

The tears that had been stinging Mike’s eyes slipped down his cheeks. He quivered, his breathing beginning to come in fast bursts. His hand tightened on the pocket knife, but Mike couldn’t begin to aim past his tears. The teen pressed himself tighter against the wall, hoping that the universe would take pity on him and tear itself to swallow him whole.

Bonnie reached for him. His hand could probably cover Mike’s entire face.

“Please,” Mike whispered, voice raspy. Bonnie froze. “Bonnie, please.”

Neither of them moved. Bonnie seemed to have been stopped in his tracks. Mike couldn’t move, couldn’t even think of lifting his knife. They just stared at each other, the only sounds being Mike’s quiet, quick breaths.

Mike remembered something right then. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was because he was desperate for some hope, or maybe it was because of his position. He remembered one time he had been under a table in the pizzeria, hiding from his friends and their cruel teasing. He remembered that Bonnie had found him, had been there for him, and how the rabbit had made everything okay.

_“Mikey?”_

_Mikey sniffled and peeked from under his hands. Bonnie was crouching, a hand holding up the table cloth. He was frowning, obviously confused at Mikey’s spot from underneath a table._

_“What are you doing under there?” Bonnie asked._

_Mikey wiped at his teary eyes, but it did nothing to stop the tears. “C-Cassidy’s being mean again,” he murmured. “Tyler is too.”_

_Bonnie’s frown deepened. He looked around. “Is that why you’re hiding?”_

_Mikey nodded. “Don’t tell them I’m here,” he begged. “They’ll make fun of me again.”_

_“What were they teasing you about?” the rabbit asked._

_“They said my hair’s too long,” Mikey answered. He grabbed at the hair that had dared to grow past his neck. “Cassidy keeps pulling it and Tyler keeps calling me Michelle.”_

_Bonnie’s face took on a sympathetic light. He smiled gently. “I like your hair, Mikey.”_

_“…You do?”_

_“Yeah. In fact, I think Cassidy and Tyler are jealous of how pretty it is.”_

_Mikey lightly tugged at his hair. It was smooth under his fingers. “Tyler said boys don’t have long hair.”_

_Bonnie let out a snort and rolled his eyes. “That’s a silly thing to say. Of course boys can have long hair.”_

_“Really? Mama said that it needs cut.” Mikey thought for a minute. “I don’t want it cut anymore.”_

_Bonnie gave him a gentle look. “I think you’re going to have to listen to your mama, Mikey, but if you do get it cut, it’ll grow back. In the meantime, why don’t you play with it? I’m sure Agatha would love to braid it.”_

_Mikey frowned. Agatha was with her parents, and they were too far from Mikey for him to get over there without Tyler and Cassidy seeing him. “What if Tyler and Cassidy start teasing me again?”_

_“Well, I won’t let them. I think they owe you a very big apology.” Bonnie extended his hand, smiling. “Let’s go find them together.”_

_The child grinned brightly. He reached for Bonnie’s hand…_

And let out a high whine when a light pierced his eyes.

“Jesus, Mike!” Chris exclaimed. The light went away quickly. “How long have you been under there?”

Mike rubbed his eyes. “Ow.” He swallowed, throat dry. “Chris?”

Chris let out a heavy, but relieved, sigh. “You’ve got to stop freaking me out like this.” He extended his hand. “Come out of there.”

Mike took the callused hand gratefully. His body felt stiff despite his legs feeling like jelly. He was mostly pulled out of his spot by the man. Chris drew him to his feet, Mike grabbing at the table to steady himself.

“Why the hell do you have a knife?” Chris asked, spotting the pocket knife instantly. It looked wimpy and old, but it was still a knife the kid was holding.

The teen glanced at it. “B-Bonnie,” he stammered. He took in a breath to steady himself. “Bonnie got in. I thought I could…” He shrugged. “Yeah.”

Chris let out a soft snort. “That’d probably only do something if you stuck in an eye, and then you’d have three other animatronics to deal with.” He huffed. “May as well damage one if you’re about to go.”

Mike withdrew the knife and pocketed it. “Hey, Chris? Have the animatronics ever covered the cameras before?”

Chris’s eyes narrowed. “No,” he said, suspicious. “Why, did one of them do that?”

Mike nodded. “Yeah. Bonnie, uh, got in front of a camera and wouldn’t move.” He knew he should say something, tell the truth about them already, but Mike still felt chained to that promise.

The janitor let out a frustrated grunt. “Fucking hell. They’re robots, but act like fucking sadists. Hell, it looks like Freddy boxed you in here after the power went out.”

Mike swallowed. “It wasn’t him.”

“What?” Chris barked, eyes snapping to the kid. “You’re kidding. None of the other animatronics come in here after the power goes out, only Freddy does.” He looked at the left door. “Who came in?”

“Bonnie. He came in instead of Freddy.” The guard idly scratched at his neck. “I ran out of power and hid under the desk. Bonnie found me, but… But he didn’t do anything. I mean, he was going to, but he just…didn’t. I was out of power for at least five minutes, too.”

Chris stared at him. “How the hell did you wait him out for five minutes? He couldn’t get under the desk?”

“He could grab me, but he…” Mike paused, thinking. He didn’t want to lie to Chris, but he didn’t know what else to say. “I guess he thought he had more time.”

“Usually they take every minute they can get when getting a guard in a suit,” he muttered. Chris sighed. “Let’s just go.”

When they were walking out, Mike tried to make eye contact with Bonnie, but didn’t receive it in return. He and the others were staring straight ahead like they usually did when Chris came in. If there wasn’t any emotion to be found in Bonnie’s eyes, there certainly wasn’t any on his face.

The heating of the truck washed over Mike, warming his shaky nerves. He buckled himself in and went limp, sighing. His heart was still pounding. His stomach was twisting.

“You’re not going to have a heart attack, are you?” Chris asked. Despite the obvious sarcasm, there was a concern peeking from under his tone. “I’d rather not have to explain to the mortician why there was a dead kid in my passenger seat.”

“Ha,” Mike mumbled.

Chris eyed him. “You look like you’re going to throw up.”

Mike felt his stomach heave. “Yeah,” he said, voice high. He shoved the truck door open. “Yeah.”

Chris winced at the sound of Mike throwing up. He reached over and patted the kid’s back, sighing. “You ate too much of something, didn’t you?”

The teen finished a few minutes later, hauling himself back up when he was done dry heaving. Chris handed him a napkin, which Mike took gratefully to wipe his face. Mike shut the door a minute later, falling back into the seat.

“…Yeah.”

The kid just didn’t know when to stop himself, did he? “I figured.” Chris put the truck into drive. “My place or yours? Think: mine won’t make you vomit.”

“Mine,” came from Mike’s mouth instantly. He rubbed his face. “I’m sorry, I just… I want some space.”

Chris wanted to try and change the kid’s mind, they needed to talk after all, but another look at the kid told him that prodding him would do nothing but make Mike upset. “Fine,” he said. “But, Mike…”

The teen looked at the ceiling tiredly. “Yeah?”

“We _are_ going to talk,” Chris told him. “Not now, but later. There’s some stuff we need to go over.”

The discomfort came back, making his stomach twinge. “Got it,” the teen murmured. “Got it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess that talk's going to be delayed for a little longer. Like, a chapter of so longer. You guys like Bonnie, right? ;)
> 
> Also, it was really hard writing everything after the flashback. I'm a little unsatisfied with it, so I'll probably tweak it later when I think of how to end on a smoother note.
> 
> If you have questions about this AU, or even me, feel free to ask in the comments or go to my tumblr (anon's on if it makes you more comfortable). Link's on my profile.


	19. Tag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonnie isn't sure why he didn't go through with catching the night guard or why his wires are suddenly heavy with dread. All he wants is for that bad feeling to go away and for the memories to stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who needs sleep when you could be editing and releasing a chapter? (Jk, I'm passing out the moment I hit post)
> 
> This chapter went in a completely different direction, but I like it more than what I originally had planned. Bonnie was supposed to be the main focus of the chapter, but then it changed. And then it turned into fluff. I don't know what the hell happened. Enjoy this huge revision!

“Please. Bonnie, please.”

Bonnie froze. It felt like something had lodged itself into his circuits at the quiet plea. He wasn’t sure why the night guard’s voice had suddenly stopped him, but it had. He had heard the guard’s voice plenty of times before, but now it sounded so…child-like.

So young.

Even in the dark, Bonnie could see every detail of the guard’s face. He could see the teary blue eyes, the dullness that coated them and the fear that laced them. He could see the thin cheeks, watched them begin to flush as the guard began to cry. He could see the quick rise and fall of the small chest, the quivering of the small body and the clenching of the jaw.

He could hear the tiny heart pound.

Bonnie's game had paid off, he had gotten the man to waste power. It had taken Freddy some convincing for him to allow him to let him do it. They didn’t change the rules for any other guard, not even the last one, but Bonnie was done with seeing Foxy suffering. Bonnie had wanted to take things into his own hands. Freddy had been very hesitant, as the rules had been in place for years, but he had finally relented. It was obvious he was just as tired of dealing with the guard as everyone else was.

Foxy, despite the debacle last week, didn’t say anything.

Bonnie had the guard right where he wanted, but…

He looked the guard in the eye. The blue eyes had become distant and unseeing. Bonnie was positive that the human had slipped into some kind of safety mode; some other guards had done it. Bonnie had learned that humans sometimes did that when they were scared. He thought it was funny, seeing the things capable of killing their own children freezing up and huddling in a corner in an attempt to protect themselves.

Seeing this guard in particular doing it should have been just as hilarious, but instead it made Bonnie feel…bad.

The guard’s breaths were quiet, fast, and incredibly shaky. There seemed to be no end to the tears. Bonnie suddenly felt the urge to reach and wipe the tears away, adding to the developing thought that the tears didn’t belong there. He shoved them away quickly, mortified with himself, but the feelings didn’t go away. For some reason, he felt incredibly bad for making the guard cry.

Bonnie looked over the guard again like it would resolve his thoughts.

It suddenly hit him that the guard _looks so much like Mikey._

The rabbit jerked himself away and on to his feet within the second, backing away. Bonnie stared as his wires began to quiver, a sudden rush of fear flooding his system. He let out a quiet yelp when his back suddenly hit the wall, flinching away from it. He practically stumbled out of the office as the feeling of being crushed set in.

_Why does he look like Mikey why does he look like Mikey why does he look like-? ___

__Bonnie nearly screamed when he bumped into something. He looked up to see Freddy in front of him. The older animatronic didn’t have that much height on Bonnie, but Bonnie still felt small compared to him._ _

__Freddy’s face instantly filled with concern. “Bonnie, what’s wrong?” he asked._ _

__“Nothing,” Bonnie said quickly. Too quickly, he knew. He moved past Freddy. “I-I just didn’t get him.”_ _

__The bear caught Bonnie’s shoulder with a firm hand, stopping the other. “What happened?” he asked. “Did the guard have something on him? Did he hurt you?”_ _

__“No,” Bonnie responded. Freddy’s hand on his shoulder, usually a comforting gesture, suddenly felt as suffocating as the office. “I’m fine. Really, I’m fine. I’m just upset I didn’t get him.”_ _

__Freddy didn’t seem to be upset. “That’s fine,” he said. “I’m more concerned about you. You’re panicking.”_ _

__“I’m not panicking!” the rabbit abruptly snapped. He squirmed under Freddy’s gaze. “I’m fine.”_ _

__Freddy didn’t buy it. He had raised Bonnie since the animatronic had come out of the shipping box, of course he wouldn’t buy an obvious lie. He wrapped an arm around Bonnie’s shoulders and steered him down the hall. “Let’s get back to the stage,” he said._ _

__Bonnie sputtered. “B-but the guard…!” His voice box felt like it was being crushed._ _

__“Isn’t important right now,” Freddy finished. “You’re what’s important right now.”_ _

__“We don’t have much time-!”_ _

__“Start counting to ten, Bonnie.”_ _

__Foxy slipped from the Cove. “What’s goin’ on?” he asked. He looked down at Bonnie, concerned. “Bonnie?”_ _

__“Don’t go into the office,” Freddy told the fox. He continued to walk Bonnie to the stage. “I think the guard has something on him.”_ _

__The fear hit Foxy instantly. “What did he do?” He followed the two. “Did he hurt Bonnie?”_ _

__“He didn’t,” Bonnie rasped. He suddenly felt too small and his legs felt too weak. It felt like half his wires were in knots. “I’m fine.”_ _

__Chica came from the kitchen. “What’s going on?” She was already bee-lining to the stage. “Why is Bonnie panicking?”_ _

__“Sit down,” Freddy told Bonnie, helping the smaller on to the stage. He spared a glance at Chica. “I think it has something to do with the guard.”_ _

__Her eyes narrowed. “What did he do now?”_ _

__“Don’t even think about going into the office,” the bear ordered, knowing what she was thinking. “I think the guard has a weapon and I don’t want any of you getting hurt.”_ _

__“He didn’t do anything!” Bonnie cried. His ears twitched spastically as he struggled to keep them from lowering enough for him to grab. “I messed up, that’s all that happened! He wedged himself under the desk and I couldn’t get him!”_ _

__Annoyance passed over Freddy’s eyes. “Of course he did,” he muttered. He pulled himself up next to Bonnie. “There’s always tomorrow, Bonnie. It’s okay.”_ _

__“It’s not,” Bonnie wheezed. They didn’t even breathe and he was choking! He shook his head rapidly, trying to shake the panic away. “It’s not fine, it’s-!”_ _

__Chica stiffened. “The janitor’s coming,” she blurted. “I hear his truck.”_ _

__Freddy nodded. “Get to your places,” he ordered. He stood and extended his hand to Bonnie. “Come on.”_ _

__Foxy reluctantly jogged back to the Cove, slipping through the curtains. Chica picked up her plastic cupcake and fitted herself into position. Freddy made sure Bonnie wasn’t going to collapse or drop his guitar before picking up his microphone and getting to his spot._ _

__The door opened seconds later. “Mike?” the janitor called._ _

__The animatronics were well aware of the guard’s name, but they didn’t need to use it._ _

__The janitor stormed into the main room. His hazel eyes instantly snapped to the backdoor, but he went to the hallway instead of checking it. “Mike?” he called again. “Kid, where are you?”_ _

__The nickname, despite its worthlessness, had something in Bonnie twisting._ _

__The guard and janitor came from the hallway a few minutes later. The guard looked pale and shaken, his eyes reddened from his crying. He looked at Bonnie, but Bonnie didn’t dare move. The animatronic just hoped that his legs wouldn’t give out in the next few seconds._ _

__When the two finally left the building, Bonnie let out a sigh and sank to the floor. He felt incredibly dizzy._ _

__Freddy was by him again. “You’re okay,” he murmured. “Do you need your ball?”_ _

__It still caused a spark of embarrassment that Bonnie had to rely on a foam ball to help him calm down even after using them for years. He nodded his head anyway. “Yeah,” he managed to say._ _

__Freddy’s eyes flickered to black. A black line stretched from the opening around his elbow, reaching to a floorboard and picking it up. The board was set aside, the line wrapping itself around a bright green ball and lifting it. The line retracted, curving like an arm to hold it over Bonnie’s lap. Bonnie opened and cupped his hands, and the ball was dropped into them. His fingers dug into it instantly._ _

__“Thanks,” Bonnie mumbled._ _

__The line disappeared, as did the black in Freddy’s eyes. “No problem.”_ _

__Foxy had left the Cove. “He had a knife!” he snarled, storming towards the stage. “That little bastard had a knife!”_ _

__Bonnie looked at him, gaping. He hadn’t seen a knife, but maybe the guard had kept it hidden just that well._ _

__“Where was it?” Chica asked, horrified. If the guard had used it on Bonnie…_ _

__“He must have had it in his bag,” Freddy supplied. He looked ashamed. “I can’t believe I missed that.”_ _

__“He didn’t use it,” Bonnie chimed in. He felt a little better with his ball and the guard’s absence. “I don’t think he would have anyway. He’s too soft.”_ _

__“Humans are unpredictable, Bonnie,” Freddy reminded, looking at him. “We’ve seen what they’re capable of when they’re backed into a corner. You don’t know what he would have done with it.”_ _

__Foxy, despite the ferocity on his face, looked terrified. “Don’ ye ever do that again!” he snapped at Bonnie. “No more changin’ the rules like that; never again! He could have killed ye!”_ _

__Bonnie couldn’t help but scoff. “Foxy, a little knife-.”_ _

__“Could have taken out your eye,” Chica cut in. She crossed her arms tightly. “Or he could had gone for the back of your neck.”_ _

__The memories of Patterson, blood, and the dark room teased at Bonnie’s mind. “Shut up,” the purple rabbit hissed._ _

__“He could have seriously hurt you, Bonnie,” Freddy said, sending a firm glance to the two of them in case they said anything more about that. “That’s something we’re not risking again.”_ _

__“Oh, so what about you?” Bonnie snipped, annoyed. “If it would have been you going in there-!”_ _

__“I don’ give a fuck who it could have been!” Foxy interrupted. His eyes were burning brightly, his teeth bared. “He had a knife, he could have taken yer eye out!”_ _

__“He could have taken out yours, too!” Bonnie retorted. “He would have made you a real pirate.”_ _

__Foxy wasn’t fazed. “I’ve got a fuckin’ hook ta slit his throat. Ye don’. Don’ even think about comparin’ what would have happened if I had been in there instead.”_ _

__“That’s enough,” Freddy cut in. “We’ll just have to be more a little more careful of him from now on. For now, everyone just needs to relax.” He looked at Bonnie. “How are you feeling?”_ _

__Bonnie shrugged. “A little better.” Despite the annoyance that had been brought up, he didn’t feel as panicked anymore._ _

__The dread in his wires, however, wasn’t completely gone._ _

__Freddy nodded, then stood. “I’ll check the room in case he hid anything in there,” he said._ _

__“I left a cake on the counter in there,” Chica said, sliding off the stage. “I need to finish getting it decorated and put in the display case fast.”_ _

__Freddy gave Bonnie and Foxy a hard look. “No more fighting, understand? This guard isn’t worth any of us yelling at each other.”_ _

__The two nodded. “Yeah,” they mumbled. Their wires were warm with embarrassment. It wasn’t much of a scolding, but Freddy stating the facts in that tone always made them feel like little kids._ _

__Freddy and Chica left the room. Foxy was left standing by stage, Bonnie still sitting and idly squeezing the ball. It was quiet, but it was anything but peaceful._ _

__“…Don’ ever do that again,” Foxy whispered. Bonnie looked at him, guilt pulling at his wires at the somber expression the fox was wearing. “Please.”_ _

__Bonnie’s ears drooped. “I’m sorry. I just… I just wanted to make you feel better,” he murmured._ _

__Foxy looked at him, mortified. “Please tell me ye didn’ come up with that plan just because of me.”_ _

__The other said nothing._ _

__Foxy let out a groan, lightly slapping his face. “Damn it.”_ _

__“He’s making you miserable,” Bonnie said, insistent. “I figured if we hit him with something different, we could have gotten him.”_ _

__“And made me feel better,” the pirate sighed. “I don’ ever want ye doin’ stuff like that again. I don’ care what mood I’m in, I don’ want ye riskin’ yerself fer me.”_ _

__“I’m your-.”_ _

__“Big brother, yeah,” Foxy finished, exasperated. “Which makes my point even clearer when I say don’ fuckin’ do that again.” He huffed. “And ye bein’ older doesn’ mean ye have ta do shit like this.”_ _

__Bonnie sighed. “I know.”_ _

__“…He really could have killed ye,” Foxy said after a beat._ _

__The sick twist in Bonnie’s wires made him shudder. “Foxy-.”_ _

__“I’m not losin’ anybody else, Bonnie!” the fox barked suddenly. The fire in his voice simmered to nothing just as quick, his posture slumping. “I won’ lose anyone else.”_ _

__First the children, and then… “He looks a lot like Mikey,” Bonnie admitted quietly. Foxy jerked his head over. “That’s really why I couldn’t kill him. He just looks so much like Mikey, just a little grown up.”_ _

__Foxy stared at him for a long beat, his sunny eyes wide and blank. Then he huffed. “Mikey’s dead,” he grunted._ _

__Bonnie instantly regretted bringing it up. He didn’t like reminding Foxy about it, and he certainly didn’t like thinking about that day and what he had seen. He gripped the ball tightly. When the thought came up, he couldn’t stop thinking about it no matter how much he tried._ _

_Screaming. People were screaming, starting to scatter. He stopped playing his guitar and looked around to see what was happening. He couldn’t hear Freddy or Chica singing anymore._

_He saw it. People were surrounding Foxy, the new guard and one of the waiters. Foxy was unresponsive to them, his eyes dark and jaw hanging limply. There was blood everywhere. There was blood on the floor, blood on Foxy, blood on Mikey._

_Mikey. Oh god, Mikey. Mikey wasn’t moving, he wasn’t breathing, he was dead. Mikey was dead, he was dead! Freddy, Mikey’s dead, Mikey’s-!_

__“Mikey’s dead,” Bonnie blurted, trembling lightly. “He’s dead.”_ _

__Foxy looked at him, worried. “Bonnie, ye’re startin’ ta freak out again,” he said. “Yer eyes are black.”_ _

__Bonnie squeezed his eyes shut. “It’s fine, I’m just…” He rubbed at his right eye. It felt like it was leaking. It probably was._ _

__Foxy knew what Bonnie was thinking about. He didn’t comment on it, didn’t say anything about it. He wasn’t sure he could keep up with a deadpanning attitude with…that. “He won’t stand a chance tomorrow,” he said._ _

__“Can we just…stop talking about it for now?” Bonnie asked. “Please.”_ _

__“Sure,” Foxy agreed. He looked at Bonnie’s face. “Ye’ve got it all over yer face.”_ _

__“I do not,” the rabbit grunted. He brought his hand away, white pupil taking it in. “Ugh.” He reached and wiped it off on Foxy’s arm._ _

__“Eww!” the younger howled. He practically clawed at his arm. “Get yer fuckin’ eye goop off of me!”_ _

__“It goes away,” Bonnie reminded, chuckling. “What’s wrong with my eye goop?”_ _

__“Because it’s yers!” Foxy’s hand came back bare. “Ye’re so lucky it goes away.”_ _

__“I guess I am.” Bonnie wiped some more off of his cheek and rubbed it off on Foxy’s arm. “Tag.”_ _

__Foxy’s eyes flickered black. Some of the substance bubbled up from his hand. He slapped Bonnie’s shoulder with it. “Tag.”_ _

__Bonnie summoned some of it in his hand, too. He flicked some onto Foxy’s face, earning a disgusted sputter. “Tag.”_ _

__Foxy splattered some on Bonnie’s ear. “Tag.”_ _

__Bonnie was snickering. So was Foxy._ _

__“Boys.” The two looked over to see Freddy standing in front of the hallway with a raised brow. “Really?”_ _

__“It goes away,” Foxy reminded, grinning innocently._ _

__“I hope you’re both planning to stop using your powers by the time Chica gets out here,” Freddy said._ _

__“I finished this thing five minutes ago!” Chica yelled through the kitchen door. “I felt them both start up. I’m not coming out until I know I’m not getting pelted with the gunk!”_ _

__The two groaned. “Fine,” Foxy huffed. “Ruinin’ our fun.”_ _

__Chica poked her head out. “You guys can have as much fun as you want whenever this cake is safe and sound in the display case,” she said, carrying the cake to the counter. “This cake is too pretty for you to ruin.”_ _

__“Ye can just make another one.”_ _

__“It won’t be the same.”_ _

__“It will be if ye make it look the same.”_ _

__“That isn’t what I mean.”_ _

__Freddy just rolled his eyes and walked towards the stage. “We would know if you would let us in the kitchen again,” he said, smiling._ _

__Chica snorted. “Yeah, and risk burning the pizzeria down? No, but nice try.”_ _

__“Darn, I thought I had you.” Freddy pulled himself onto the stage. “How are you feeling, Bonnie?”_ _

__“Better,” Bonnie responded. He handed Freddy his ball, the other animatronic tucking it back under the floorboard. He frowned. “Again, sorry I didn’t get him.”_ _

__“You’re safety is more important than anything,” Freddy told him. “A guard can be replaced. You, on the other hand, cannot.”_ _

__Foxy mocked vomiting. “Blaugh.”_ _

__Freddy lightly punched his shoulder. “Hush,” he said, smiling. "Get back to Cove. The staff should be here any minute."_ _

__“Yeah, yeah.” Foxy hopped off the stage. “Wake me when it’s time.”_ _

__“That won’t be a problem,” Chica told him, climbing up on the stage. “You could sleep through the pizzeria burning down.”_ _

__Foxy gave her a toothy grin. “And I’d be well-rested ta deal with it later.” He stepped into the Cove. “Night.”_ _

__Bonnie stood up and grabbed his guitar. He glanced at Freddy, the bear tweaking his microphone, then back to his hand. The goop materialized in his left palm, a grin grown on his face as he carefully reached to rub it on Freddy’s ear._ _

__A line came from the opening on Freddy’s shoulder and wrapped around Bonnie’s wrist. “Don’t even think about it,” Freddy said flatly._ _

__Bonnie stuck out his tongue. “You’re bad at tag anyway.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come.
> 
> None of the animatronics (so far ;P) are actually related in any way. The main four in this AU see each other as siblings (so no Fronnie, Foxica, etc). That being said, I actually ship a lot of these guys, just not in the AU! I've got plenty of AU's unrelated to this one that I ship them in, but OLF isn't where they're at. There will be shipping later on, just not with/between the main four. Sorry if there's any disappointment there.
> 
> Btw, I'll say now that I hope you all are prepared for the next two chapters :)


	20. Unhooked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Mike recovers from his stomach ache, Chris attempts to get information from Miss Lady, but it might not matter now that it's Friday. Foxy's fed-up with the mouse of a guard, and Mike's going to need a miracle to survive the old captain's onslaught.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, struggling to write the first half: **_"Why?!"_**
> 
> First half: **Ugly screaming**
> 
> The second half of this chapter wasn't hard to write whatsoever; because I had already written it! I spent so much time on the first part that it's not funny. It's a good thing I was experimenting with writing down bits and pieces of what I had or else this would have taken a lot longer.
> 
> Warning (I guess?): Somewhat detailed chat of vomiting?

“Come on, kid,” Chris said as he helped Mike up the stairs.

Mike felt his stomach roll each step he took up the stairs. “Ugh,” he groaned.

The ride back was miserable for Mike’s stomach. The stress of the night had added to the nausea to make the perfect mess. The bumps in the road made Mike feel like he was in a pop can that someone was shaking. Vomit teasing the back of his throat made Mike keep his mouth shut the whole ride.

Mike just wished he could keep it shut for a little longer now that he was climbing up the stairs. More specifically, keep it shut while Chris was dragging him up the stairs.

“Kid, I get you’ve got an upset stomach, but try and keep yourself from throwing up on me,” Chris told him.

The teen let out a distressed hum and clenched his jaw tighter. That wasn’t something on Mike’s bucket list.

Chris glanced down at Mike. The kid was struggling to keep what was left in his stomach down, his face pale and cheeks red. The sight had Chris struggling between being annoyed and concerned. On one hand, the kid should have learned by now that he couldn’t handle too much of Petunia’s cooking with how filling it was. On the other, it was obvious that Mike needed a lot of help with portion control, because he couldn’t afford to lose what little weight he had put on.

They finally got to Mike’s door after a long time of playing Red Light Green Light with Mike’s stomach.

“Where’s your key?” Chris asked.

Mike didn’t want to go through his bag to get it, and he certainly didn’t want Chris going through it, so he forced back the bile in the back of his throat and called, “Miss Lady!”

The janitor grimaced. “Did you seriously give her a spare key?” He knew the kid didn’t have anyone else in the building that was somewhat trustworthy, but really?

There was a moment of quiet, then the soft thumping of someone walking. Chris looked back at the woman’s apartment, waiting. It took him a second to realize that the movement wasn’t coming from her apartment, but Mike’s. He jerked his head back in time to see Miss Lady opening the door.

Miss Lady’s eyes widened. She leaned against the doorframe playfully, smirking. “Nice to see you back here, handsome.”

“What the hell are you doing in there?” he snapped.

Miss Lady shrugged. “Enjoying the couch.” She looked at Mike. “What’s with him?”

“Vomiting,” Chris said shortly. “Can you move out of the way to let him in to his own damn apartment?”

She moved aside with a huff. “Don’t worry, kid,” she said to Mike as the two moved past her. “Those pancakes hit me pretty hard, too. I kept most of them, though.”

“Eww,” Mike mumbled.

“You don’t have any anti-acids, do you?” Chris asked, though he already knew the answer.

Mike just wanted to sit down. “No.” He heard they tasted like chalk, and Mike had certainly tasted that when he was in school.

“I do,” Miss Lady said from her spot by the door. She was already starting to move. “I’ll get them.”

Chris eyed Mike. “What was she doing in here?” He knew the kid wasn’t high or anything, it was the fact that a woman that Chris didn’t trust was in Mike’s apartment.

Mike shrugged lightly. “She likes my couch,” he mumbled. “And she ate a lot of pancakes.”

“She likes your couch,” Chris repeated flatly. He shook his head. “I’m not going to ask.”

Chris got Mike to the bed without much trouble. The moment the teen sat down, Chris went to the kitchen to grab something in case Mike’s stomach decided to roll over again. He just hoped the kid had a bowl big enough if that happened.

Miss Lady walked in with a container a minute later. “Found them,” she said.

“They’re not expired or anything, right?” Chris asked her. He had managed to find a bowl that didn’t look gross.

Her amber eyes rolled. “So little faith in me. Like I’d give a kid expired chalk tablets.”

Chris took the anti-acids from her. “Thanks.” He walked past her. “You can go now.”

Miss Lady snorted. “Yeah, right,” she said, following him. “I’m not leaving just because you’re being a prick.”

The janitor glared back at her, but said nothing.

Mike was hugging a pillow to his chest when they walked in, hiding his face in it. It made the teen look a lot smaller than he already was, and it made Chris feel a lot more apprehensive about Mike’s choice to keep working the night shift. Chris went over to him and set the bowl on the nightstand. The sound made Mike look up, blue eyes tired as they took it in.

“In case there’s a round two.” Chris poured two tablets from the bottle and handed them to Mike. “Here.”

Mike didn’t make any move to take them. “Don’t they taste like chalk?”

The hazel eyes made a full loop in Chris’s eye sockets. “That’s the point of anti-acids, Mike,” he answered, his tone mocking. Hadn't the kid ever taken one before?

Mike’s face scrunched up in disgust. “I don’t want them,” he mumbled.

 _You’re kidding me._ “The taste goes away after you drink some water. Just take them.”

“No.”

 _You’re fucking kidding me._ Chris took in a deep breath through his nose. He wasn’t going to go back and forth with Mike over this shit like Logan and Petunia did with their kids. “Just take the fucking tablets, Mike.”

“No.”

Miss Lady was snickering quietly. Chris fought back a growl. He wasn’t going to deal with her shit either.

“You’re hopeless,” Miss Lady said. She walked to the bed. “Give ‘em.”

Chris eyed her for a second, then gave up the tablets and the bottle. She winked at him, then dropped to her knees next to the bed. Mike’s eyes widened a tad, surprised. Chris raised a brow. What was she doing?

She held one between her fingers. “They’re grape flavored.”

Oh, there was no fucking way Mike was going to fall for that. He was naïve, yes, but he was _seventeen_ , not seven.

“They’ll taste gross,” Mike muttered, not at all swayed by the flavoring.

“Only for a minute,” Miss Lady said. Her voice was at a soothing low. “You’ll get some water to wash it down. It’ll be like you never tasted them.”

Mike clutched his pillow tighter, uncomfortable. Everything he knew about her suddenly went sideways. Miss Lady looked so calm, and her voice was so gentle. He could still smell the pancakes and whip cream caking the usual blanket of stale air fresheners and drugs. She had become a completely different person just by changing her stance and her voice.

“Do you want me to take one?” she asked. She popped it into her mouth and chewed. She grimaced faintly, the taste disgusting, but swallowed swiftly. “See? Not that bad.”

“…Do they really taste like grape?”

Chris gaped at him.

“You think I’d have anything else? I love grapes, pup.” She dropped another one into her hand. “They’ll make you feel better.”

Mike looked at the tablets, hesitating. Then he reached and took them from her. He reluctantly popped them into his mouth, flinching as the chalky taste hit his tongue. He forced himself to chew them, shuddering and shoving his face into the pillow.

They did, however, taste like grape, even if just a little.

He finally swallowed them. When Mike looked back up, Miss Lady was holding a water bottle. Mike took it gratefully, drinking in big gulps. The disgusting taste finally went away, and Mike handed her back the bottle with a relieved pang in his stomach.

Miss Lady smiled _oh my god she was smiling_ and reached for him. “Good puppy.”

Her hand settled on his head, her cool fingers rubbing his scalp. Mike stiffened for a moment, startled, but soon relaxed. It was very, very rare whenever Miss Lady did this, usually when she was over and when he was freaking out. It felt…nice. His stomach wasn’t as upset as it was before, and Miss Lady was being so nice.

“You’re being really nice,” Mike mumbled, tired. He was already exhausted, and Miss Lady rubbing his scalp was only making him drowsier.

“I have to be nice to my number one customer for pest control,” Miss Lady said, amused. She wouldn’t ever admit it, but the pup looked…cute when he was tired. The kind of cute she heard women with baby fever go on about, she knew bitterly.

It was quiet for a few minutes. The drowsiness was dragging Mike down. He barely felt the blanket being drawn over him, but the faint warmth curled around him. If he concentrated enough, he could pretend he was at Chris’s apartment and in the spare bedroom, dozing on the bed that smelled like fresh laundry.

“Don’t leave,” he slurred quietly. The sleepy blues looked at Miss Lady. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’m not going anywhere, pup."

Chris felt sick.

It seemed to soothe Mike enough for him to finally sleep. His eyes shuttered away, his breathing already beginning to even out. Miss Lady stood, stretched. Her back popped. She looked down at Mike, feeling a sad mixture of pity and amusement.

Miss Lady walked past Chris. The man looked at Mike for a moment longer, then followed her out of the room.

“That was pretty shitty of you to do,” Chris said to her when he closed the door.

“Shitty?” she echoed. Miss Lady shrugged. “He took them. Call it what you want, but he took the tablets and got some comfort out of.”

Anger flared in Chris’s chest. “You played on him being sick and alone.”

She sent a hot glare back at him. “Isn’t that what you and your boss are doing?”

Chris reeled back. “Excuse me?” he snipped.

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” Miss Lady growled. “Who invites a kid over for dinner every night and sends him home with leftovers a fucking week after they’ve met?”

“People who fucking care,” Chris shot back. He struggled to keep his voice down. “My boss has a family and a bleeding heart, of course he’s going to invite Mike over for dinner.”

She obviously wasn’t convinced. “What do you want from him?”

“Nothing,” Chris answered. “We don’t want anything from the kid.”

“Sure,” she snorted.

Chris wanted to say something that was positive would get him punched, but he held himself back. As much as he hated to admit it, the woman knew more about Mike than Chris did at the moment. This was an opportunity to find out more on Mike, and Chris knew he had to play somewhat nice with her.

“We don’t want anything from him,” he repeated. “We just want to help him.”

“Help him?” Miss Lady echoed, skeptical. Her brows had shot up at that.

Chris glanced back at Mike’s room. “Don’t tell me that you don’t know something’s not right,” he said. “There’s something wrong and it’s got to do with Mike, I know there is.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “You’ve got that right,” she confirmed. “And you’re asking me what’s wrong with him, aren’t you? Why the hell would I tell you anything?”

“Maybe because we could actually help the kid with whatever’s going on,” Chris answered mockingly.

“Bullshit you can. Ever since he took that job, he’s been losing his shit. I’ve listened to him cry nearly every morning after he gets back. Whatever you’re doing not isn’t helping him.” She put her hands on her hips. “I don’t know what the hell’s going on there, but I think I deserve the truth if you want anything out of me about him.”

“Deserve the truth?” Chris echoed, incredulous. He couldn’t help the short laugh that left him. “What exactly do you do for him?”

The dark eyes narrowed. “That’s none of your business.”

“It is now that I’m-!” He suddenly stopped.

“You’re what?” Miss Lady edged. “What were you going to say?”

It almost pained Chris to say it, but he knew it was true. “Now that I’m looking after him,” he got out.

Miss Lady stared at him for a minute. Then she smirked. “You could use some work on saying that.”

Chris gaped at her, wide-eyed. “Were you seriously just fucking with me?” he snarled as quietly as he could.

“A little,” she confessed, still wearing that dumb smirk. “The pup doesn’t trust people that easily, and he obviously trusts you. I, on the other hand, still think there’s a motive here, but if Mike likes you, I have to deal with you.”

 _Motherfucker._ He knew he would have seen through her tricks if he wasn’t so damn involved with the kid’s life. Chris let out an angry huff. “What do you want to know?”

She didn’t hesitate to answer. “What goes on at that pizzeria at night. I’ve heard the rumors about guards going missing or ending up in asylums, and now that Mike’s working there, he’s been losing his goddamn mind.” She was studying him closely. “So what’s happening?”

Chris sighed. He’d get in so much trouble with the company if Miss Lady started spouting shit she heard from a working employee, but that wasn’t too important to him right now. “The animatronics mistake people after dark for naked endoskeletons,” he said.

Miss Lady raised a brow. “Explain.”

“The suits are basically uniforms. They’re programmed to put a naked endoskeleton back into uniform if they see one.”

“Why would one get out of its suit if that’s the case?”

That was a very good question. “No clue,” Chris answered. “Whatever the reason is, it’s there.”

Miss Lady shifted her weight. “Let me get this straight,” she said. “The kiddy robots that sing for babies think the night guards are naked endoskeletons, and they try to put the poor bastards into suits because they think the guards are out of uniform?”

“Yeah.”

“…What the fuck, man?”

Chris was surprised at the tame response. “They think Mike’s a naked endoskeleton, so they’re trying to stuff him in a suit. The place is tricked out with metal doors to keep them out, but they’ve made up actual patterns to try and get the guards.”

“What the fuck?” Miss Lady repeated, eyes wide. “No wonder the pup’s freaking out when he gets back from a shift. I just thought he was upset about being alone all night and shit, not that.” Fear tinted her features. “So those things are killing people?”

“Yeah, and you can’t tell anybody I told you this,” Chris said firmly. “If the company finds out that I said anything to you, they’ll ruin whatever you’ve got going for you and then some.”

“No one listens to drug-addicted prostitutes, handsome,” Miss Lady responded. She swallowed, gathering her thoughts. “Damn, I didn’t think… It sounds so fake, but it makes so much sense.”

“If you take rumors seriously, then they do.” Chris tapped his foot impatiently. “Alright, I told you what you wanted, now tell me what I want. What’s going on with him?”

Miss Lady opened her mouth, then closed it. She shook her head. “I can’t tell you," she said.

“Why the hell not?” Chris snapped. After he just told her the truth, too?

“Because it’s not my place.” She crossed her arms loosely. “The pup wouldn’t do it to me, so I won’t do it for him. He’s going to have to tell you what’s going on himself, and trust me when I say he will."

“Why are you so sure he’ll do that?” he questioned.

“He trusts you,” Miss Lady told him. “That’s enough for him to say something. I just don’t know when he’ll say something.”

Chris wanted to press her for more, but resigned himself not to. He knew he was pushing his limit with the woman. “Is there anything at all you can tell me about him?”

Miss Lady tapped her foot for a moment, pondering. Then, “He’s a runaway,” she admitted. “Something scared him enough for him to run away from home.”

Ice shot through Chris’s heart. A runaway. A runaway from something scary. A runaway from –perhaps– an abusive situation.

A runaway from a certain Simon Schmidt.

_Holy shit, Logan’s right._

“You look like you put something together,” Miss Lady commented.

Chris looked back at Mike’s room. He hoped the kid was having some good dreams. “I did. Thanks.”

"You didn't hear it from me." The woman examined her nails. "I've to get these repainted."

For some reason, Chris found himself asking, "What the hell is your name, anyway?"

Miss Lady chuckled lowly. "Like I'd tell you." 

\- - - - -

Vicious was a word that seemed far too soft for how the animatronics were acting tonight.

“Ugh!” Mike grunted after practically throwing his body against the right door button. Freddy had gotten precariously close to getting in. “Go away!”

Freddy laughed. Mike opened the door the moment he was gone, then hastily checked Pirate Cove. He tried not to panic over how low the power was.

It was bad. Freddy was moving like lightning, outnumbering Chica’s frequent visits. Bonnie, surprisingly, wasn’t as bad as last Friday, but he was still bad. Foxy had gone for the office quite a few times already, nicking at the power like a squirrel working away at a power cord. The four had certainly stepped up their game, obviously furious over Thursday’s failure.

Mike was still wondering about Bonnie’s behavior. He knew the only way he’d get an answer is if he let himself get caught, and he wasn’t a curious enough cat to let that happen.

Bonnie was back again. Mike got to the door again just in time. He was panting, sweating from the exertion. He had been running back and forth for hours without a break. His legs were sore, his shoulders hurt from slamming against the walls, and his head felt like it was going to split open. There wasn’t enough time for Mike to grab his bag and get his little bottle of ibuprofen open. He’d be caught the moment he got the cap off.

At least his stomach wasn’t hurting anymore. The anti-acid tablets had done their work well.

Miss Lady had been gone when Mike had woken up. Chris had been, too. Mike hadn’t gotten any time to feel upset about it, because there had been a grocery bag on the counter filled with anti-acids, clear pop, and bread. A little note that told Mike to stop being an idiot about food and to follow some written instructions had him smiling at Chris’s concern.

Mike had done what Chris had wrote for him to do. He had made some toast and eaten it at a snail’s pace, he had drank some clear pop to assist with settling his stomach, and then, very reluctantly, taken another anti-acid before crawling back into bed.

Night had come far too quickly in Mike’s opinion.

The teen knew something was up with Chris when he got in the truck, something that was most likely pertaining to that highly anticipated talk. And the fact that Mike hadn't gone to Logan's for dinner. Chris was very quiet, and he was very short on words whenever Mike got him to talk. It unnerved him, something Mike didn’t need just before a Friday shift, but he didn’t comment on it.

Chris’s last words to him before driving away were stuck in Mike’s head under all the chaos: _“You’re going to be fine, Mike."_

But Mike was not doing fine, and he knew he was very, very close to either screwing up or losing power. He was positive that he wouldn’t get lucky like yesterday again.

He heard the thumping too late. Mike gasped, turning just in time to see the flash of red fur passing the window. He ran to the door despite the reality of his vainness. His hand wasn’t even close to the button when the monstrous animatronic appeared in the doorway.

Foxy was in.

Mike was screaming. He thought he was, but he couldn’t hear himself over Foxy’s screeching. The sharp fangs were pearly under the light, the sharp hook speckled with light despite the thick rust. Foxy’s eyes were wide and feral, jaw unhinged to reveal the second set of teeth in the back of his throat. The light showed off his matted, crimson fur, the torn suit allowing a short glimpse of the hanging wires and metal inside of the beast.

Mike’s reflexes forced up his arms; a futile attempt to somehow block. The hook came down, and Mike screamed when it sliced through his forearm. Pain flared and spread like a fiery flood, blood gushing past the open wound and soaking his sleeve. He stumbled backwards, gripping his arm tightly, crying hysterically.

Foxy was still moving forward, swaying in an attempt to fit himself as best as he could inside the office. He grabbed Mike’s arm, the cold of the metal hand slithering through his sleeve, and yanked him off the ground. The beast roared in his face, allowing Mike too close of a look at the dark stains spattered around Foxy’s mouth.

Everything seemed to freeze; Mike had. He suddenly felt disconnected, like his soul had just abandoned his body in an attempt to hide. He felt something in his chest moving, surging. He felt the coolness of the floor tiles, the smell of dust hidden in the corner strong in his nose. Foxy was replaced with Freddy, the bear hiding by the bathrooms. Mike couldn’t hear anything.

Freddy’s gaze snapped to him. Everything was black; gone. Freddy was black, his figure and features outlined with white. His eyes were completely white, but Mike knew the bear could see him. They stared at each other, glowing eyes reflecting, and then the world shook and warped. Mike was floating, reality shifting, and suddenly something hooked around his stomach and yanked him upwards.

There was a cool breeze running against his face. Mike was staring at the sky, the light of the town fading as the sun’s light began to blanket itself over the night. His eyes caught buildings, and Mike shifted his head, hesitantly and just so, to see the town over the ledge.

He was on the roof.

He was _on_ the _roof._

Mike threw up. He heaved, his stomach struggling once again. He stumbled away from the mess when he was done, falling behind the tiny wall that guarded him against the wind. The teen broke out into tremors, gripping his wounded arm tightly as he cried and whimpered. His head was pounding. He felt his nose bleeding.

He didn’t need to look in a mirror to know that he was hallucinating the black stuff again.

It was snowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think Mike's going to be able to explain this to Chris, but that's more to come. More to come next chapter, I should add ;)
> 
> Sorry if the second half seemed a little short btw. I thought I wrote a lot more than I did when I first wrote it. I may tweak it later; I'm very tired.
> 
> On a completely unrelated note that totally breaks the mood: Wanna be friends with the author (me, lol) on Pokemon Go? My code's 9731 3839 5660. If you're not sure it's me, my name's got Rutabaga in it, my buddy's a Feebas named Ophelia, and I'm an Instinct. So yeah, if you guys think that'd be a fun thing, go ahead and add me.


	21. Ink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm should have come after Chris rescued Mike from the roof, but instead it was peak of the storm. Chris discovers his deadly secret, and Mike is forced to come clean about everything. Even about the powers he had no idea were real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still sick, but I managed to work on the chapter. This was supposed to be a super important moment and I'm not satisfied because of my sick writing. Hopefully it's enjoyable. I'll tweak it later when I'm feeling better. For now I want to throw myself into a pile of dogs and never come out.
> 
> Reminder of the tags again, because we're digging extra deep into most of them, namely "self-harm" and "past abuse/abuse".

Chris left five minutes early. He couldn’t help himself despite the anxiety that had been weighing heavily against his chest. He didn’t finish his coffee even at his instinct to drink it in case it was going to be a long morning or slow down to tie his laces, he just pulled on his boots and jacket and got out the door.

The sound of the truck tires screeching at every turn was quiet compared to the rumbling in his ears. It was a good thing there weren’t any police around or that they just didn’t care, because Chris wouldn’t have an excuse to be speeding so early in the morning. One that was believable, that is, but the police were already acquainted with the place.

Chris wasn’t sure if he could take another week of this. His formerly stone resolve towards the place had crumbled so fast with Mike. He knew he’d never get used to the anxiety of pulling into the parking lot and not seeing Mike. He knew that despite all the gore he had seen in the backroom, he’d never be prepared if Mike was caught.

When he pulled in, he reasoned with himself that Mike was still inside because it was cold. The snow from earlier was still sticking to the ground. Chris reminded himself that Mike needed a new coat, because there was no way the kid was going to avoid a cold in this kind of weather.

He put the truck in park by the entrance and got out. He just hoped Mike was staying inside because it was snowing, not because he was hurt or dead. Chris took a step forward, even at the small urge to just stay put and wait for Mike to come out himself.

“Chris?”

Mike’s weak and shaky voice made Chris jump so hard that his feet nearly left the pavement. He looked around, hazel eyes wide. It sounded like Mike was outside, but…

“Chris?” Mike called again. A sniff. “I’m up here.”

Chris looked up at the roof in disbelief. There was no way… “Mike?”

The guard peeked over the ledge. His hair was dotted with snow, his cheeks wet from crying and flush from the cold. “Yeah.”

His jaw dropped so hard he swore he pulled a muscle. “What the fuck?!” he yelled. “What are you doing up there?!”

“I don’t know!” Mike yelled back, voice cracking. He was huddled behind the ledge, quivering. “I can’t get down.”

Chris took in a slightly calming breath. _Okay._ “There’s a ladder on the other side. Just take that down.”

“It’s loose,” Mike whimpered. He had tried it earlier and the slight shake it gave off had Mike going back to the ledge for cover. “And I’m… I’m scared of heights.”

 _Of course you are._ Chris sighed. Then the only option would make Mike lose his shit. “Then you’re going to have to jump.”

“Jump?!” Mike squealed. “You want me to jump, are you serious?!”

Just as he expected. “Mike, I don’t want to call the fire department at six in the morning for a kid stuck on a roof of an already shady business, so you’re jumping whether you want to or not.”

Mike shook his head rapidly. The outcomes of the fall were rushing into his head. “I’ll break my neck! I’ll-I’ll paralyze myself! I’ll-!”

“For fuck’s sake, Mike, I won’t drop you!”

The teen blinked. “You’re going to catch me?” he questioned.

Chris gawked. “Did you seriously think I was going to just let you fall? Yes, you idiot, I’m going to catch you!”

Mike swallowed. “Promise?”

The desperation lining the quiet plea made Chris’s heart clench. “Promise,” he echoed. “Now just climb down the sign as low as you can.”

Mike hesitated before forced himself onto the ledge. Dizziness struck him so fast that he had to drop to his knees and turn his back to the parking lot before he fainted. He hissed when he extended his left arm. The drop to the “Fazbear” wasn’t too far, but the fear of his feet slipping off of a letter and him falling backwards made Mike shudder.

“It’s not that far, Mike,” Chris hollered. “Slide down to the ‘z’.”

The short drop made Mike’s heart fly up to his throat. His feet hit the top of the letter, his knees swiftly getting weaker. His fingertips were just barely touching the ledge anymore. Mike tried to ignore the fact that gravity would gladly drag him down the moment he moved an inch backwards.

“Good,” Chris said. He could tell that Mike was trying not to pass out. He shuffled around, finding a better position. The truck would give him elevation, yes, but he didn’t want to risk falling backwards and cracking his own head open. “Now turn around and drop.”

Mike was already shaking, but the journey of turning towards the parking lot had him quaking. His knees felt like they were about to disappear and take his heart with them. His eyes stung with frightened tears. The drop down looked so _far_ and _what if Chris didn’t catch him, what if he fell and he hit the pavement-?_

“Just trust me, Mike,” Chris told him. His voice was firm, secure just like the rest of him. “I’m not going to drop you.”

Mike shut his eyes, took in a shaky breath, and jumped. 

Gravity ripped the air right from his lungs. His body felt incredibly light and incredibly heavy at the same time. His brain was flashing images of the worst to him, his mind begging him to panic and scream before he couldn’t do it anymore. His arms started to flail on their own, but his legs wouldn’t move to his weak command.

Chris let out a heavy grunt when he snatched Mike, his arms shaking at the sudden weight. The kid certainly wasn’t heavy, but gravity had been eager to drag him down. He stumbled backwards, fighting for his balance. He just barely managed to keep it, steadying himself with sheer willpower and stubbornness. Mike was shaking like a wet kitten, his arms instantly going around Chris’s neck and squeezing as hard as he could.

The janitor shifted his grip just so. Hauling bodies had an upside after all. “Told you.”

Mike didn’t say anything. He just clung and shook.

Chris hauled to the kid to the truck. He brought the back down and sat Mike down. Mike got the hint and let go. Snow still gripped at his shoulders and hair, Chris noted with a spike of worry. The snow had stopped over an hour ago, and Mike seemed to be shivering more out of fear than being cold. He brushed the snow off of the boy.

He noticed the blood before he noticed Mike cradling his arm. It was all over the kid’s shirt; it looked like he was stabbed. “Shit, what did you do? Let me see.”

Mike didn’t offer his arm. “It hurts to move it,” he said quietly.

“Mike, you’re paler than snow and there’s blood all over your shirt. I need to see how bad it is.” He reached for the wounded limb. “Just let me see it.”

There was a moment of completely silence, and finally Mike shakily outstretched his arm. His face scrunched up in pain. Chris took the arm in hand carefully, then hissed. The blood spattered around Mike’s arm may have been making it look a lot worse than it really was, but Chris could tell that it was pretty deep.

“Okay,” Chris said, releasing Mike’s arm. The boy took it back against his chest. “It’s going to hurt like absolute hell when I patch it up, I’ll say that now. It’s deep and it’s definitely going to scar, but you’ll keep it.”

Mike nodded, but said nothing.

Chris didn’t know why that had been the thing that made him lose it, but it just was. “Just what the hell were you doing on the roof?! How’d you get up there?! Why would you go up there if you’re scared of heights anyway?!”

Mike’s eyes instantly shined with tears. “I don’t know,” he sniffled. “I don’t know, it just happened.”

The kid was shaking. Chris sighed, mentally kicking himself for the umpteenth time because he needed to _stop fucking scaring the kid._ He had no idea what Mike meant by that, but he needed to get the kid warm and patched up. He shrugged off his jacket and threw it around Mike’s shoulders. It was a pitiful sight, Mike being dwarfed in the fabric with his teary face. He looked at Chris with those big puppy eyes, like someone had kicked him while down, and Chris couldn’t help but feel even more upset with Mike for putting himself in danger.

“We’re going to my place,” Chris said firmly. He herded Mike off of the back of the truck and to the passenger side. “Then you’re going to explain what the hell you were doing up there.”

Chris managed to find a rag in the backseat that wasn’t dirty. Mike had winced when the janitor wrapped it around his arm, but hadn’t started crying. It really surprised Chris. He had seen Foxy’s hook and what it could do, so to see Mike simply cradle his arm and hold back tears had Chris amazed with the kid’s pain tolerance. Of course, it could also mean that the kid was either slipping into shock or already there.

“Keep pressure on it,” Chris instructed. “Take deep breaths and try to relax.”

“It stings,” Mike murmured.

The hazel eyes slid to the pizzeria. He thought for a second, balanced out the consequences, and then turned to Mike. “Where’s the keys?”

Surprise faintly touched Mike’s face. “My bag,” he answered. “It’s still…” He trailed off, glancing at the roof through the windshield.

“Got it,” Chris said. “I’ll grab your stuff and then we’ll go.” He opened the backdoor again, reaching for something behind the seat. “Just sight tight.”

Mike’s eyes widened when Chris’s hand came back holding a baseball bat. It was shiny, grey, and had a fair amount of dents in it. “Where’d you get that?” he asked, his jaw dropped.

“The store,” Chris answered plainly.

Mike stared at it. “Why do you have it now?”

Chris adjusted his grip on the bat. “You can never be too sure with those things,” he said. He didn’t want to be the first to get stuffed after six.

“You’re not going to smash them, right?”

God, he didn’t get the kid at all. He sighed. “No, Mike, I’m not going to smash them.” He would have smashed them long ago if he had the choice. He turned and walked to the pizzeria. “Just stay here.”

Seeing the main trio up on stage did nothing to quell Chris’s caution, because he never knew with Foxy and he never went to the Cove to reassure himself. The old fox was the most unpredictable of the group. Chris glared at the three and tapped his bat against the floor as he moved, a warning he was just barely willing to give. Foxy better have heard that for his sake.

He found Mike’s bag against the wall near the trash can. Chris picked it up, weighed it in his hand as he examined it. It was old, ragged, and super light. Granted, the kid wasn’t using it to carry school books, so Chris didn’t expect it to weigh much at all. Still, he wondered if he could convince Mike to get a better bag when they went looking for a new coat.

He left the office through the right door. No way in hell was he risking Foxy bypassing the programming and grabbing him. The three were still on stage, unmoving and dead-eyed, and Chris could now say that Foxy was in Pirate Cove. Still, he kept a tight grip on the bat in case one of them came running. He heard from the few guards that had ran and survived that all of them -namely Foxy- were fast.

God, he _hated_ Foxy, and now not just because of how vicious the damn thing could be.

Chris stopped and glanced at the curtains, hazel eyes heated. “You’re so fucking lucky Mike refused to scrap you,” he said. “After everything you’ve done to him, too.”

It was something he needed to say, even if the dumb robot couldn’t understand him.

Mike was still sitting in the seat when he got back. His eyes were innocently big when he looked at Chris. The silent question in his eyes irritated the man.

“I didn’t,” Chris said. He opened the back door and tossed the bag and bat in. “Relax.”

The ride back to Chris’s apartment was quiet. Mike was slumped in his seat, looking out the window as his one hand kept pressure on his arm. Chris glanced over from time to time, asking if Mike was fine to make sure he was still conscious. The kid would give a quiet confirmation, but nothing more.

They pulled up by the building. Chris shut off the truck and got out, going to Mike’s side. He opened the door and stepped back. “Come on, kid.”

Mike slid out, the wince on his face visible enough to tell Chris that the slight impact of his feet against the ground hurt. “I think it stopped bleeding,” he said.

“Still needs patched,” Chris told him. At Mike’s heart-wrenching expression, he sighed. “Mike, it has to be done. It's too big to close itself up.”

The teen shifted. “I know,” he whispered.

The blood loss became obvious when they were getting up to Chris’s apartment. Mike swayed and missed steps by miles. Chris finally tucked the teen against him after a particularly violent sway, arm under Mike’s right as he got them the rest of the way. Embarrassment passed through Mike at the realization that he could barely walk himself. At least Chris couldn't see how mortified he was at this angle.

Chris had left his apartment so fast that he hadn’t locked it. Stupid, but good considering Mike needed his arm patched as soon as possible. He tugged the kid inside, shut the door, and finally got Mike to the couch. The relief on Mike's face when he sat down was fairly amusing to Chris despite the circumstances.

“Try and get comfortable,” he said as he went to the bathroom.

Mike looked after him. “Are you really going to sew it up?” he asked, fear lacing his quiet voice.

Chris grabbed the first aid under the sink. “Yes.” He grabbed a rag as well, turning on the sink and wetting it. “I’ll be fast.”

Mike’s heart picked up. “Seriously?”

The man came back. He honestly felt bad about it, because he knew it’d hurt like a bitch, but it had to be done. “Yes,” he said again.

“It’s not like fabric,” Mike reminded, staring at Chris with fearful eyes.

“I know it’s not, but you’d be surprised at how good I am with this.” Chris sat down on the coffee table in front of him.

Mike swallowed. He didn’t give up his arm. “You’ve done this before?” he asked, curious.

“A few times.” Chris popped the first aid open. “Not many people escape Foxy and live.”

That meant people had escaped Foxy.

 _But_ Mike realized _not like me_. He still had no idea how he was going to explain how he got on the roof to Chris, because even he had no idea. Had he blanked out from the adrenaline and ran? How, and why the roof? Of all the places he would hide, the roof was the last place. So why-?

Chris grabbing his arm made Mike stiffen. The man pulled off the rag, revealing the bloodied skin and ruined fabric. The hiss Chris let out wasn’t at all reassuring, but all Mike could think was that he was going to see _he’s going to see don’t let him see!_

Mike tried to pull away. “No!” he cried. “No!”

The sudden movement caught Chris off guard, but he held tight. “Christ, Mike, you’re going to start bleeding again if you don't stay still!” he shouted.

“Don’t touch it!” Mike snapped, tugging violently despite the pain. He covered the wound with his other arm. “Don’t!”

Chris growled. “Mike, I’ll fucking pin you if you’re going to be a baby about it, so shut up and let me see it!”

“No!”

Chris had to fight to keep himself from actually pining Mike to the couch to look at his arm. He wasn’t sure how well that would go over. “It’s either me or the hospital, kid,” he hissed through his teeth. “Pick your poison.”

Mike stopped struggling. He looked at Chris, terrified. “No hospitals,” he said. “No hospitals, please.”

Chris didn’t say that they would probably have to go to the hospital anyway seeing as how Foxy hadn’t been properly cleaned in years and that hook had fuck-knows-what on it. It wasn't his job to tend to Foxy, but Chris kind of wished it was now that Mike had gotten a nasty taste of what the thing could do. “Then hold still and let me see it.”

“Just let me do it,” Mike blurted. He was desperate. His arm hurt so bad and his head was feeling light, but he couldn’t let Chris see.

“I can guarantee that you won’t be able to hold the needle,” the janitor commented. “It’ll be a few minutes, kid, that’s all. Stop freaking yourself out.”

“Chris, please,” Mike cried, tears wetting his eyes. “Don’t.”

Guilt had lodged itself into Chris’s side in the form of a tiny thorn at Mike’s frantic pleading. “What are you so scared of?” he asked, honestly curious. “You’re acting like I’m going to cut off your arm.”

Mike would rather lose his arm than let Chris see. He sniffled. “Don’t,” he begged again.

Chris looked at the wound again. There was no way it was going to close up on its own. It was too deep and too wide. He mentally kicked himself for not just taking Mike to the hospital, but to do it now after he had just given the kid a choice seemed cruel. He wouldn’t abuse Mike’s trust like that, and he felt a lot better doing this himself than letting one of the inside doctors at the hospital do it without a care for Mike’s comfort.

He thought back to Miss Lady and how she had gotten Mike to take the tablets. Chris certainly wasn’t going to jam the needle in his arm to prove a point, but there had to be a way to get Mike to work with him.

“…I’ll get you ice cream,” Chris said after a moment. It was stupid and childish, but that was the only thing he could think of. When Mike’s expression didn’t change, he went on. “Any flavor you want and however many scoops. Honest.”

The tears only seemed to grow bigger. “Chris…” Mike whimpered.

Chris fought a sigh. “Pancakes _and_ ice cream, how about that?"

Mike broke into quiet cries, bowing his head. There was no escaping this. Chris was going to see, and then he was going to leave.

Chris, on the other hand, didn’t push his luck.

Cool water bathed the skin around the wound, the rag gently dabbing against the edges. It made Mike shake and cry, but Chris didn’t stop. He did his best to be as gentle as he could, but there was only so much he could do. Speckles of rust dotted the darkening rag, Chris folding it over as he tried to clean out what he could see. It was a slow process, but Mike remained somewhat still and Chris managed not to screw up.

“There’s the easy part,” Chris said, pulling the rag away. He narrowed his eyes just so. “It’s actually not so bad-.”

He stopped. Mike didn’t need to look at him to know what he was looking at.

“Mike,” Chris started slowly, “what is this?”

Mike shook his head rapidly. His teeth were sunk into his lips, biting down to keep the wails from escaping him.

Chris found himself staring. There were scars and cuts all over Mike's arm, very precise ones, and they weren’t going away. He wasn't stupid, he knew what they were, but he still asked, “Did you do this?” 

His voice was eerily calm. It scared the hell out of Mike. He tried to pull away again, shivering, but Chris's grip on his arm had tightened. "Did you?" Chris asked again, demanding.

The teen took in a few ragged breaths. Then, “Y-yes,” he confessed.

It felt like someone had dumped ice water on Chris. “Fuck,” the man breathed. “Mike… Mike, why the hell…?” He stopped for a second, gathering himself as best he could. This... This was what Miss Lady had been talking about. It wasn't just about Mike's family, it was this. How did he not catch this?

“Let go,” Mike sniffled. “Please.”

Chris didn’t. “Mike, you’re…” Was there any easy way to state the obvious? Of course there wasn’t. “You’re…hurting yourself, kid. You have to tell me what’s going on.”

“I can’t,” he choked. “Chris, just let me go.”

Some of them were scabbed. Most of them were old and faded. Chris couldn’t get over just how many there were of both. “How long?” he asked, a demand in his tone.

“Chris, please-.”

“How long, Mike?” Chris barked, eyes flaming.

The teen shrank under the man’s voice. “S-seven,” he whispered.

Chris knew the answer, he did, but he just hoped that these were somehow seven months and not what Mike was going to say. “Seven what?”

A sob left Mike. “Years.”

Since he was ten, fuck. Since he was _ten_. “Why?” Chris asked quietly. “Why?” he repeated, his voice gruffer.

“You w-wouldn’t unders-stand!” Mike sobbed. He wished this was a dream, but it wasn’t. This was really happening.

“Why wouldn’t I understand?!” Chris snarled, shooting to his feet. Mike flinched and swiftly withdrew his arm to his chest. “Is it because I’m an asshole? Because I’m only good at being angry? Because I was a prick to you at first?”

Mike choked. He couldn’t take this. “Chris-!”

“I’m looking after you now!” Chris shouted. “You’re my responsibility, Mike, one that I took on because you wormed your fucking way into my goddamn heart! I’m not helping you because of work, I’m helping you because I fucking care! I'm here because I care! Now tell me why you’re fucking cutting yourself right now!”

The words seemed to slam into the floor. A moment passed where Mike was just crying and Chris was just trying to breathe normally. It was quiet. Chris was amazed that one of his neighbors hadn’t come to his door or called the cops.

“…I have to,” Mike finally rasped. “I need it.”

“Those are two different things, Mike,” Chris said, though hope fluttered in his chest at the admissions.

“I can’t explain it,” he wheezed. He gave a hard sniff. “I can’t tell you.”

Miss Lady’s comment came back to him: _“I can’t tell you.”_

A beat passed. Then, “Mike, be honest with me,” Chris said. He was treading on thin ice already, but he knew these things would tie together. “Your parents don’t know where you are, do they?”

Mike jerked his head up. It seemed the last of the color in his cheeks flooded out with those words. “They-!”

“Don’t know where you are because you ran away,” the man finished.

Mike looked at him like a deer in the headlights, fearful and cautious.

“Your dad,” Chris began slowly, “isn’t a good person.” It was more of a statement than a question. “He beat you.” At Mike’s terrified expression, he went on. “You ran away from him because he beat you.”

“He didn’t,” Mike said quickly. Too quickly. “That’s not true.”

“His name is Simon,” Chris went on, more confident than before. “He lived in Kentucky and came here because he was accused of kidnapping a girl named Lilian.”

“Stop,” Mike begged. The twisted lies that Sir and Mama told him tapped at the back of his mind, weaving in with Chris's claim. It made sense, it definitely made sense, but he didn't want to hear it. He couldn't.

“He abused you and you ran away.” He gradually sat back down on the coffee table. “Didn’t he? He's a part of the reason you do this.”

Mike didn’t say anything, but he knew he didn’t have to. They both knew it was the truth.

“I’ve been through the same thing,” Chris said quietly. He reached slowly for Mike’s shoulder, aiming for comfort. “My dad abused me and my mom agreed with what he did.”

Mike stared with wide eyes. Chris had been hurt by his parents, too? Chris? Big, strong Chris who was a deadpanning jerk? Chris who drove him home and got him breakfast? Chris?

Chris’s hand was too hot on Mike’s shoulder. “Kiddo-.”

The touch send Mike spiraling. _“Don’t touch me!”_ he screeched, jerking away.

A cup flew past Chris’s head and shattered against the wall. He let out a frightened yelp, jumping back and hitting the coffee table. He whipped his head up to where the cup had crashed, water scaling down the wall to join the glass pieces behind the couch. “What the fuck?!” he yelled.

Mike stared at where the cup had shattered. “You… You saw that?” he whispered. “That was…real?” He hugged himself tightly and clenched his eyes shut, his breathing picking up speed. “Oh god, oh my god, that was real. It’s been real.”

Chris swallowed. Yeah, that had been fucking real. “Mike,” he said carefully, turning back to the boy, “what was that?”

Mike shook his head. “I don’t know,” he whimpered. “I thought it wasn’t real.”

Chris looked at him incredulously. “What the hell do you mean?” he exclaimed. “You mean you thought you were imagining…whatever the hell that was?”

The teen hiccuped. He wiped his face. “I don’t know, Chris, I don’t know.”

Chris stared at him for a minute. Then, “Look at me.” Mike shook his head rapidly. “Mike, look at me right now.”

A scared pause. Then Mike opened his eyes. His irises were a bright white, the blue completely gone, and the sclerae an empty black. A faint glow came from Mike’s eyes, his tears normal and clear as they ran down his face.

Chris’s leg moved back. “Fucking Christ,” he breathed. So he hadn’t been seeing things in the parking lot last week. The kid’s eyes had really gone black.

Mike noticed the movement. He curled in tighter on himself. “Please don’t leave me,” he cried softly. He didn’t know if he could survive Chris leaving anymore, even though he knew it would happen now. “Please, I’ll be good. I won’t do it again.”

The desperation was enough to snap Chris back from his instinct to get the hell out of there. The man mentally cursed himself, shaking his head. “I’m… I’m not going to leave you, Mike,” he said carefully. He straightened. “Just… You need to tell me what’s going on.” He took a step forward. “Can you do that for me?”

Mike looked at him, his eye-dots big and cautious, before nodding slowly.

There was a start. Chris took in a breath. “Okay,” he said, though he wasn’t sure if it was more to himself or to Mike. “When did this…become a thing?”

“I-I… I can’t remember.”

“So you weren’t born with whatever this is?” Chris supplied. If Mike couldn’t remember, then that meant he hadn’t necessarily had this at birth. Then again, the kid did have some pretty bad brain damage.

Mike thought for a minute. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I think I wasn’t.”

“Okay.” Chris, however, still didn’t move to sit. He didn’t want to make Mike panic and break anything else. “Did this start when you were little or recently or…?”

Mike’s fingers were tugging on his sleeves. “I think when I was little,” he said. “It’s all blurry. I remember...” He trailed off.

"Remember what?" Chris asked. He knew he was pushing his luck, the kid already over a crumbling edge, but there had to be something in Mike’s head about this. “Anything, Mike, anything at all.”

"Mama." The word was forced and choked. "I-I'd... I'd get angry, and she always tried to make me be quiet. She said I was possessed."

Chris didn't want to know what that was. He had a feeling what was implied, however. "So she knew about this, but thought you were possessed?" He wasn't one to fall for ghost stories, but whatever was going on with Mike was definitely unnatural.

"I feel...disconnected," Mike said. He felt it in his fingertips, the feeling of almost floating. "It feels like it."

"But you're not." That was what Chris was focusing on. The kid was, at the moment, fully aware of what was happening. There wasn't a ghost or demon or whatever inside of him. It was just Mike being...apparently Mike.

Mike absently rubbed his neck. "I don't think I am."

Chris didn't think so either. 

The sudden sniffle caught Chris off guard. Mike's cheeks were wet again within seconds. “You’re gonna let them take me away.”

The change in subject almost gave Chris whiplash. “Who’s ‘them’?” Chris asked. Who the hell was Mike talking about?

“The police,” Mike said, like it was obvious. “I-I’m a freak. I’m not normal. They’re going to take me away and experiment on me and-!”

“Mike, no.” Chris went and sat down next to him. He ignored Mike’s shoulders tensing and how the kid didn’t look at him. “First off, your imagination runs wild. Second off, no, I’m not going to tell the police or the government or whoever about this. This stays between us.”

Mike slowly turned his head. The little dots seemed to be quivering. “Between us?” he echoed quietly.

The feeling of being freaked out by Mike’s eyes had gone away at some point in the past few seconds, because all Chris felt when he saw Mike like this was heartbreak. “Yeah,” he said. “Just between us.”

“Not even Logan and Miss Petunia?”

“Not even them,” Chris said. As much as he wanted to tell them, he wouldn’t do that to Mike. “Unless you want them to know. Other than that, no.”

Black dripped from Mike’s eyes and onto his cheeks. “You’re not going to leave me?” His voice was so hopeful and desperate.

Chris didn’t hesitate. “No.” He reached for the rag and grabbed it, bringing it to Mike’s face. “Hold still.” He dabbed at the black dots on Mike’s cheeks.

Mike whimpered, scared. “It’s real.”

Chris made a note to ask about that later. “Yeah, I think that's been established. Relax, kid.” He turned the rag over to examine…whatever it was that came from Mike’s eyes. “What even is this stuff?”

“I don’t know.” Mike rubbed at his face. Some of it smeared on his hand. It was thick and syrupy. “It goes away. That's why I didn't think it was real.”

Despite that, Chris didn't want him touching it. “Ugh, don’t touch it,” Chris scolded lightly. He went and wiped it off of Mike’s hand. He made a face. “It’s like ink.”

Mike looked at him, curious. “Does it smell like it?” he asked.

“I’m not smelling it,” the man said firmly. He held the rag to Mike. “You smell it if you're so interested in finding out.”

Mike's face scrunched and turned away. “Eww, no!”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“Then you smell it!”

“Absolutely not.”

Mike was giggling, light and child-like. “You’re the adult.”

“And you’re the source of this shit.” Chris smirked and dangled the rag in front of Mike. “It’s the attack of whatever the fuck came from your eye!” he declared.

Mike inched back, giggling. He let out a pained sound when his arm hit the couch, the fabric rough against the wound. “Oww!”

Chris winced in sympathy. “Right, almost forgot.” He glanced at the rag, then tossed it on the coffee table. “Come on, let’s get it patched.”

The teen looked at him, grimacing. “Okay.”

Chris’s eyes widened slightly. “Your eyes are back to normal.”

Mike blinked. “Really?” He touched his cheeks, feeling for the inky substance. “It’s gone.”

“Shit, I didn’t even see it.” Chris upturned the rag. The black smears were gone. “That was fast.” Mike had been laughing then, so maybe...?

The glassy blues eyed him curiously. “You’re really…”

Chris raised a brow. “Really what?”

“You’re calm about this,” Mike finished slowly. “Like, really calm. Aren’t you… You know, even a little scared?”

“Why should I be scared of _you_?”

“You’re not even a little freaked out?”

“I was pretty freaked out whenever a cup came flying at my head,” Chris deadpanned. Mike winced, guilty. “Which, by the way, don’t ever do again. I don’t care if you have magic powers, don’t throw shit at me.”

“I’m sorry,” the raven-head murmured. “I didn’t mean to.”

Chris sighed. “That’s what I was afraid you were going to say.” He straightened his back, grunting at the crack it gave. “I’m not scared of you, kid. As long as you don’t freak out again and stab me with the needle, we’re good. Now lay on your stomach and put your arm on the table so I can sew it.”

Mike did as he was told. Chris slipped his wallet out of his pocket and handed it to Mike. The teen took it, raising a brow. “Why are you giving me your wallet?” he asked.

“To give you something to bite down on when I start,” the man told him. “Bite and scream into it as loud as you want to, kid. Keep your face in the cushions, too. I don’t know how I’d explain this to the cops if one of my neighbors called them.”

Mike put it in his mouth.

Chris took in a breath. He had told Mike had hadn’t done this for a while. What he hadn’t told Mike that he hadn’t done this in a _very_ long time. “Ready?”

“Usft ooh it.” _Just do it._

He stared screaming the moment the needle pierced his skin.

Chris was gentle with his ministrations, as gentle as he could be with a sewing needle. Mike sobbed into the leather, body trembling and cries sharp. Each cry and shiver only nailed the guilt deeper. He wished he could have given the kid something, but he didn’t have anything in the fridge strong enough to numb the pain within a few minutes. Mike keened at the end, his arm starting to pull away.

“Hang on. And… There we go,” Chris said as he snipped the excess thread. He pulled the string slowly, shuttering the wound away. He set the scissors aside. “Almost done, Mike.”

There was cream rubbed around the stitches, then bandages were firmly wrapped around the wound, the extra length cut away. The disinfectant, however, returned to Mike’s arm, making him gasp and jump. Chris held the limb tight, dabbing at the scabs gently.

Mike lifted his head and spat out the wallet. He cried harder. “Don’t…”

“They’ll get infected,” Chris said quietly. Some of them definitely looked like they were verging on it. “You’ll get sick.”

Soon there was cream on them as well. Almost all of Mike’s arm had been wrapped. Chris unwrapped the gauze around Mike’s hand, checking the bites. Many of them had scabbed tightly, but his hand looked better.

“May as well redo these ones,” he muttered. He looked at Mike. “Are there any more cuts that need bandaged?”

Mike winced at the word, but shook his head. Chris took his word for it.

The small hands were dressed cleanly again. The first aid was finally packed up. Mike was lax on the couch, exhausted. He felt like he was going to pass out at any second. Chris must have gone at some point, because the first aid was gone and he was holding a pile of clothes. Mike sat up, quivering. His arm was throbbing horribly.

"Change out of your shirt. I'll wash it later," he said, hiding the lie. The shirt was somewhat salvageable, but he didn't like the sight of Mike's blood or the thought of touching it.

Mike was so tired and in his skull rang faintly with pain, but he still had the energy to feel incredibly self-conscious. "Don't look," he murmured.

Chris turned his head. "Got it."

The button-down was removed swiftly despite the pain in his arm. Mike shivered at the sight of himself, shooting Chris a quick glance. The man was still looking away, not even sparing him a peek. "It's off," he said.

“Arms up,” Chris said. He was holding the t-shirt. He still didn't look at Mike.

Mike obeyed silently, wincing when he lifted his left arm. Chris fitted the shirt over his head with a fair amount of ease, careful of the teen’s injured arm. The shirt was soft and smelled like pine. Once they were over the initial hurtle, Chris finally looked at Mike to help him fit the rest on. A pair of sweatpants were tossed onto Mike’s lap quickly after, Chris turning away and going into the kitchen. Mike took the hint, standing to sluggishly change his pants.

After Mike finished changing, the sound of the fridge closing reached into the room. Chris came out a minute later, a plate in one hand and a mug in the other, a water bottle tucked beneath his one arm. He set the plate in front of Mike, maneuvering the water bottle and doing the same. The plate was lined with banana slices and peanut butter. Two ibuprofen were nestled against a few slices.

“Eat,” Chris commanded, his voice soft. He sipped the mug. Mike smelled coffee. “Just what you can, got it? And take the pills.” Now that there wasn't the risk of Mike throwing them up out of incredible pain.

Mike nodded.

As Mike ate, Chris went to the kitchen again. He leafed through a few pieces of paper stuck to the fridge. The one with the names of the inside doctors were wedged in the midst of them. There were at least eight at the closest hospital, four nurses and four doctors. It had the names and hours they were in.

The janitor cursed under his breath. It looked like Curt and Maddie would be in today. Maddie wasn’t someone Chris minded at all because she had a heart and a small family. Curt, however, was more of a dick than Chris. He was only in the under-the-table job for the incredible pay it gave. Chris knew he should have brought the kid there first, especially with what rust he could have missed, and now he didn’t have a choice. He’d just have to keep Curt from overstepping any boundaries.

Chris came back from the kitchen. Mike was still hunched over the plate, munching away on a banana slice. He went over and sat down next to the kid. Mike looked at him, chewing.

“We’ll talk more in the morning,” he said. Mike looked at him, eyes taking on a fearful light. “Mike, this isn’t like finding weed in your pocket.”

Mike frowned, confused. “I don’t get that one,” he mumbled after he swallowed. He looked at the plate. “I’m full.”

Chris noticed that the pills were gone, as were most of the banana slices, and that the peanut butter a mere smear on the plate. He didn’t comment on it. He simply nodded and said, “Okay.” He stood up. “Come on, I’ll help you to bed.”

He helped Mike off the couch. The teen swayed, dizzy from the blood loss and breakdown, and leaned against Chris for support. Chris put an arm around the boy, leading him to the spare bedroom. It was just as it had been last time, fresh and cozy.

“Easy,” Chris murmured when he saw Mike’s wince upon sitting down a bit too hard on the bed. He sighed. “I should’ve put it in a sling or something.”

Mike opened his mouth to protest, but a yawn came out instead. He rubbed at his eyes, embarrassed at the faint dampness he could still feel on his lashes.

Chris couldn’t help but smile a little, amused. “Yeah, mental breakdowns tire me out, too. Down, Mike.”

The teen gave him a weak glare, but he settled on his back. Before he could reach for the covers, Chris grabbed them and dragged them up to Mike’s chest. Mike’s cheeks colored faintly with pink, his tired brain barely catching that Chris was _tucking him in_.

Chris glanced at the curtain and parted it slightly. He groaned when he saw snowflakes sprinkling down, round and already sticking. “Ugh, more snow.”

“I like the snow,” Mike murmured. He wished he could see it.

“You’re a kid. Of course you like the snow.” It took him a second to remember that Mike didn’t apply to snow days anymore.

“No,” the teen retorted softly. “It’s just really pretty.”

Chris had a feeling at what Mike was meaning. The cliché thought that snow was gorgeous when untouched, the analogies and poems that were written just for a snowflake. Chris was never into that kind of junk when he was in school. English class had been writing poems, essays, tests. Sappy scribbles about the weather never got him interested.

But what confused him was how Mike could see the beauty in it. If Mike had ran from home at sixteen, he must have been bouncing from alleyways to shelters. The kid had been homeless most of the winter, stuck in the freeze and struggling to stay afloat. How could Mike like snow after what he had been through?

“Chris?” Mike’s voice was so small that Chris couldn’t help but look him in the eye. The blue eyes were big and weary, way to weary for someone his age. “Did your parents really hurt you?”

Chris didn’t want to answer, but now that he had said it… “Yeah,” he said curtly. “Dad was trigger-happy with his belt and mom agreed with him even if I didn’t do anything wrong. She backhanded me a few times, too.”

Mike absently rubbed at the sheets. “Did he hit her?”

“Once,” he answered. “When they were younger. He was drinking and he gave her a black eye. He became extra religious after that, thinking that it might help him.” Chris crossed his arms loosely. “Mom would use it as an excuse for him whenever I talked back. She said I’d push him over the edge and back to drinking.”

“…Sir hit Mama a lot,” Mike whispered. His eyes were on his hands. “He would hit her when he wasn’t drinking.”

The admission stirred sympathy and disgust in Chris. Just thinking of dad hitting mom on a regular basis made him sick despite that they no longer spoke. And then the kid’s name for the guy… “Did he hit you a lot?” he asked, his voice soft.

Mike didn’t say anything for a moment. His hand, however, did tighten on the blanket. Then, “Yeah,” he rasped. “Every day.”

Every day. Chris’s jaw clenched. He didn’t remember the last time he wanted to beat someone’s face in so much.

“How did you find out?” Mike asked, honestly curious.

“Logan did some digging,” the man answered. “He had a hunch and went with his gut.”

A gut feeling. That’s all it had been, a gut feeling. Mike wasn’t sure how that made him feel.

Silence.

“Please don’t tell the police,” Mike begged. He trusted Chris, he really did, but the fear that the man would tell someone about Sir was terrifying. “They won’t believe me. They’ll take me back and he’ll kill me. He promised he would if I ever told.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Chris said, not even hesitating. “I won’t let him.” He looked down at Mike, taking in just how small and desperate the kid looked. “I’m going to be honest, the police have to be brought in sooner or later, but we’re holding off for now. We need to have our shit together before we go after him.”

Mike perked, a spike of adrenaline going through his heart. “Go after him?” he repeated.

This wasn’t the time to bring that up. “We’ll talk about it later.”

The finality in Chris’s voice was enough to make Mike drop it. Honestly, he didn’t want to talk about it right now, he was just curious. But... "Did you mean it?" At Chris's raised brow, he said, "About you caring?"

Chris fought the snort that nearly escaped him, because wasn't it obvious. He should have felt somewhat mortified at the hasty admission, but he...didn't. "Yeah," he said. "I mean it."

Mike didn't say anything. His throat felt too tight to get anything out.

Chris looked at him for another moment, conflicted, before finally giving in and sitting down on the bed. The boy barely startled, though his eyes grew wide with surprise. Chris reached and ruffled Mike's hair gently. He could faintly smell his pine shampoo, but he didn't comment on it. It gave Chris some kind of strange comfort.

“Get some sleep, kiddo," left his mouth before he could give it a second thought.

Mike wasn’t sure how long Chris stood by the bed while ruffling his hair. He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being sick makes me grumpy >:(
> 
> I'm going to eat toast, peace out and more to come.


	22. Not just a Kid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris reflects on what the hell just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've still got a pestering cold and cough, but my stomach bug's gone and I'm feeling a lot better! Thank you guys so much for being patient with me last week, and thank you to everyone who have stopped by tumblr or commented below! It's always fun to interact with everyone and answer questions.
> 
> FYI a tetanus shot should be administered within 24 hours for those wondering about how to properly treat a deep wound contaminated with rust. Mike's got time, relax.
> 
> Also sorry if this is late. That'll be explained later. For now, enjoy the chapter!

The kid was out. The fact that Mike fell asleep even with his arm having just been sewn up surprised Chris, but after everything that had just happened, it wasn’t monumentally shocking. What little color Mike had achieved naturally was slowly returning to his cheeks. His one arm was tucked against his chest, his fingers curled slightly. Mike looked peaceful, younger than he already was.

He looked so fragile.

Despite Mike’s calm, even breathing, Chris didn’t feel too soothed. Sure, the fact that Mike wasn’t in danger of bleeding out anymore was incredibly calming, but the elephants the kid had let loose were still making an uproar in the living room. Everything was still echoing in Chris’s head, loud and painfully true.

He stood slowly. He was pretty sure Mike wouldn’t wake up for a while, but Chris didn’t want to risk jostling the kid from some much-needed sleep. Mike didn’t move an inch. It sent a small spark of paranoia through Chris’s veins, and he couldn’t help but carefully put his fingers against Mike’s neck to feel a pulse.

Fairly normal. All that crying and thrashing must have gotten Mike’s heart pumping.

Chris left the room. Despite the obvious fact that Mike wasn’t going to wake up even if it was the apocalypse, he pulled the door shut as quietly as he could. The moment it clicked, Chris let out a heavy sigh. He was exceptionally tired, but he needed to clean up the mess and call the inside team.

Most of the glass had landed behind the couch, but a quick check of the cushions had Chris cursing. It was going to be a tedious cleanup, getting the glass out of the couch cushions and the carpet, but he wasn’t fond of adding a cut on his foot to match the one on his hand, or Mike cutting open his own foot.

Or Mike cutting himself at all.

Chris got the dustpan from the kitchen, trying his best to ignore the sudden hyper-awareness of how many knives he had in the rack, and went to clean up the mess.

It should have made Chris worry more for his own state of mind, how concerned he was about Mike and the kid getting ahold of something sharp, but it didn’t. He tried to tell himself that Mike wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t be so stupid to swipe a knife from the kitchen or a razor from the bathroom, but seeing just how many cuts there were on the _one_ limb had Chris thinking of places to put everything sharp where Mike couldn’t get to without him noticing.

He was overreacting probably. It wasn’t entirely a bad thing, but it certainly wasn’t entirely a good thing either.

Chris was careful of the glass. He managed to sweep up most of the shards, but he knew he’d have to vacuum. Again, he didn’t want to risk waking Mike, or any of his neighbors despite them being oddly quiet at the yelling, so he left it for now. He got what he could from the couch, which was surprisingly a small amount, and went to dump it in the trash.

The thought of Mike getting into it briefly crossed his mind.

“Fuck,” Chris cursed. He wasn’t going to lie, he was just as paranoid as Mike had been.

He dumped the glass. It made him more than uncomfortable looking at them, and not just because of the scars on Mike’s arm. The dustpan was tossed under the sink. Chris dragged himself to the mostly-safe cough and flopped onto his back, gazing at the ceiling.

What the fuck had even happened? In the last hour and a half, Mike had jumped down from the pizzeria roof, reluctantly confessed to what he was doing to himself, threw a glass at Chris’s head without touching it, then admitted that even he didn’t know what the hell was happening. It was so bizarre, so ridiculous that it sounded like it was coming from a novel with an amalgamation of genres. It didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t reality.

But it was, and that was what Chris couldn’t get over. This was reality, and Mike had fucking superpowers. The kid kicking open the truck door and busting the lock made a lot more sense now even as Chris struggled to wrap his head around it. Whenever they were out, Mike could make things...levitate? He had thrown a cup at Chris's head, so that was a yes. Then there was how Mike had gotten onto the roof; teleportation maybe? The kid could make things float and he could teleport.

 _...That's actually pretty cool,_ Chris had to admit. He then frowned. _Then again, he nearly put my skull inside out with a cup and he can't control his powers for shit. So...not that cool._

Chris thought back to the rag and what he had wiped off of Mike’s face. What even was that stuff? It looked like ink, really gross and old ink, and it certainly wasn’t natural for the normal human to leak that kind of thing from their _fucking eyes_. And it had disappeared so fast. It had just…evaporated; after the kid had started lightening up, too. There was a correlation there, but there was just no explanation for just what the hell it was. Then there was how Mike got them, and Chris wasn’t coming up with anything that could make something like that happen.

But it tied in with Mike’s emotions, Chris could figure that out. From what he was putting together, Mike freaking out led to his powers or whatever emerging, and Mike being happy had them under wraps.

And when Mike was cutting, he was in an emotional roller-coaster.

Something hit Chris: Miss Lady. 

That _bitch_ , she knew.

A growl left Chris. She knew how serious this kind of thing was, yet she held it from Chris. Mike could have done something earlier, something so incredibly stupid, and Chris wouldn’t have known until it was too late. Miss Lady had been holding on to information that had Mike walking between a very thin line, and she didn’t say a single word about it because “it wasn’t her place” and “because he trusts you”.

Mike hadn’t been planning to tell Chris at all. He had been trying his hardest to keep Chris from seeing it. Hell, the kid had been trying to convince him to hand over the needle to do an incredibly delicate task just so Chris wouldn’t see. Was that how the kid showed that he trusted someone that much? And the fact that Mike had thought Chris was going to just up and abandon him? That hurt. It hurt a lot, surprisingly.

But honestly, could he blame the kid? Chris sighed, because no, he couldn’t. Chris knew if he was in Mike’s shoes at the moment, because he had been partially in them himself when he was a kid, he wouldn’t be so trusting in someone he knew for two weeks either.

The thought of the woman had Chris thinking something else: did she know about Mike’s powers?

Chris paused at the thought. Mike had said himself that he thought he was imagining it, so most likely not. Then again, Chris had, while reluctantly, entrusted her with extremely classified information on the pizzeria, only for her to change her mind at the last second to give up something on Mike. Could he really trust her judgement after that? What if she had seen but had just been high and thought the same thing Mike did? What if she just convinced herself it was a trick of the light or mind like Chris had?

He wasn’t too keen on trusting Miss Lady anymore, especially since she knew about Mike hurting himself and didn’t say anything. He would think with how much faith she put in him that she’d want to help the kid, but apparently not. Or maybe she did and it was just her fucked up way of doing so. Chris didn’t know anymore.

Chris sighed and grabbed his phone from his pocket. He hoped Maddie would pick up, because he wasn’t ready to deal with Curt’s shit so early into the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...how are the animatronics doing? That's more to come ;)


	23. Ache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guard got away. The guard has powers similar to them. They don't know how or why, but his little escape hurt Freddy in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE! **confetti and stuff**
> 
> Today's my birthday (and National Unicorn Day, that explains a lot), so I thought I'd get the chapter out early! You all have been so supportive and amazing and I just couldn't pass up the opportunity. That's why the last chapter was so late, because I was working on this one at the same time. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy!

_“What?!” Foxy screeched._

_The guard was gone. He was fucking gone! He had disappeared, vanished into thin air!_

_“Ye little bastard!” Foxy roared. He stormed out the opposite door. “Freddy! Freddy, the guard got away from me! I don’ know how, but…!” He stopped. “Freddy?”_

_Freddy was on the ground leaning against the wall, jaw clenched and eyes squeezed shut in pain. His hand was clutching at his chest, his body quivering._

_“Freddy!” Foxy exclaimed. He rushed over, his wires twitching with worry. “Freddy, what’s wrong?”_

_“My chest," Freddy wheezed. His voice was tight. "My head."_

_Shit. Foxy dropped into a crouch. “Can ye stand?”_

_“I…” He trailed off, the pain spiking again. “Yes.”_

_Foxy wasn’t that much bigger or stronger than Freddy. Hauling the bear to his feet was a fairly difficult task, Freddy’s legs wobbling and unsteady. Foxy got his arm around the fluffy waist, careful of his hook. Freddy’s hand clutched at Foxy’s shoulder, loose despite the grip the animatronic normally had._

_“Can ye make it ta the stage?” Foxy asked. The Cove was closer, and the stage’s drop was something Freddy definitely couldn’t make right now._

_“I think so.” Freddy winced. “It feels like I tore something.”_

_That wasn’t good. Tearing a wire was a nasty feeling, but Foxy had a sinking feeling that it wasn’t a wire Freddy was talking about. “How bad?”_

_There wasn’t any hesitation. “Bad.”_

_They moved slowly. Every step looked painful, Freddy wincing at each one. It made Foxy feel awful, seeing the older animatronic in so much pain, but carrying the other was a precarious option. It was possible, but he wasn’t going to take to risk of dropping Freddy and doing more damage._

_The pain spiked again when they got to the main room. Freddy doubled over, grabbing at his chest and a groaning. Foxy held tight onto the elder, frowning openly and fearfully._

_Bonnie was running over the moment he saw the two leaning against each other. “What happened?” he yelled. “Is Freddy hurt?”_

_The kitchen door nearly came off its handles from how hard Chica threw it open. “Freddy’s hurt?!” she shrilled._

_“Please keep it down,” Freddy managed to say. His head was pounding, and as seasoned as he was with listening to three voices who had trouble keeping themselves quiet, now was not the time to yell._

_Foxy growled softly. “Fuck the stage, the Cove’s closer." He carefully turned and steered Freddy towards the curtains. “Just keep walkin’.”_

_He set Freddy down on the Cove edge as carefully as he could. The icy eyes were dim with ache and exhaustion, the usually kept posture drooping into a slump. Freddy’s hand was still on his chest, gripping at the fur and fabric that kept his hand apart from the inside._

_“What happened?” Chica asked. It was so alarming to see Freddy in such a state. “Did one of your wires snap?”_

_“I have a bad feeling that it’s my soul,” Freddy said. “It certainly feels worse than a wire.”_

_“How’d you do that?” Bonnie asked as he sat down next to the bear._

_It hit Foxy like Chica’s frying pan. “The guard!” he blurted._

_Everyone looked at him. Chica looked the most skeptical. “We can’t blame everything on him, Foxy,” she told him. As much as she wanted to blame someone for Freddy’s pain, it wouldn’t change anything._

_Foxy shook his head. “No, listen. I had the little rat in my hand, and he suddenly disappeared! It was exactly like Freddy’s trick!”_

_"Wait, he's gone?" Bonnie squeaked. "Where did he go?"_

_The pirate shrugged. "No idea."_

_Freddy blinked. He would feel out with his lines, but he wasn't too keen on testing out how bad it was hurt. “I had a feeling I saw something,” he said after a moment._

_Everything had been outlined in white and the rest swallowed in black like it usually was when Freddy was about to flash, but he had felt a firm pull, and then the outline of a human had been in front of him. They had stared at each other, the confusion obvious between them, before the figure had been flung upwards through the ceiling. There had been a sharp, stinging pain in Freddy’s chest before he was thrown into the hallway where Foxy had found him._

_“Wait, the guard actually did it?” Chica gaped. “But how?”_

_Another wave of pain washed over Freddy. “Later,” he rasped._

_A look had to be taken now. The rosy eyes flooded black. Bonnie narrowed them, settling his hands against Freddy’s chest. “Let me see.”_

_It was a delicate process whenever one of their souls was hurt. They found that Bonnie could summon them easier, Freddy being a close second. Bonnie pulled back his hands slowly, the dusty black cloud following them. A soul always flared up when it was being summoned, but the core was what was needed to be examined. Soon the entirety of Freddy’s soul was hovering above his chest, the center akin to a sphere. A dark mark was stretched across it, a light grey coating the wound._

_Everyone hissed. “Fuck, that looks bad,” Foxy breathed._

_Bonnie would be pale if he had the skin and blood. He could just stare with wide eyes instead. “That’s a bad Tear,” he admitted._

_“It’s not going to be permanent, is it?” Freddy asked. He could work around it, he had to, but he knew a Tear like this would definitely hinder his abilities._

_“I don’t think so.” He hoped so._

_Chica’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that grey stuff on it?”_

_“I think that’s where the guard got him.” It was still baffling, because the guard had somehow hit Freddy in a very vulnerable area. He reached. “Let me just…”_

_It came off fairly easily. It was thin and watery. The substance sloshed in Bonnie’s palm, wetting the lilac fur. He made a disgusted sound, as did everyone else._

_“Ugh!” Chica made a face. “It’s all syrupy and gross!”_

_“It’s heavy,” Freddy managed to say._

_“Heavy?” Bonnie echoed. He lifted his hand just so to test it. His ears twitched. “Oh, it is.”_

_Foxy stared at it, confused. “That was how it was fer me after…”_

_“It is,” Freddy said. It certainly looked familiar. “It’s much more…unstable than what yours had been.”_

_“Which means a lot of damage,” Bonnie reminded._

_They had experienced Tears in their souls before, especially in the beginning. There were a few times when their playing got rough, when they were too hyper to pull back in time, and that had resulted in a lot of lessons and a lot of painful rips. Foxy had probably had it the worst. The aftermath of '87 had left his then-new soul weak and fragile for years._

_“The guard’s soul is damaged,” Freddy concluded. “Quite badly from the looks of it.” It almost made him feel bad._

_“But how the hell did he do this?” Foxy piped up. “This has never happened before. We’ve never had a guard who’s…”_

_“Had our abilities,” Chica finished quietly, wide-eyed. “He’s just like us.”_

_“And he’s much more trouble than we thought.” Freddy winced at another pulse of pain. “I’m not going to lie, this is incredibly painful. He got me pretty good.”_

_Bonnie glanced back at the two. “Can one of you grab a rag? This stuff’s really gross.”_

_Foxy jogged to the supply closet. Chica stayed put, frowning and tapping her talons against the tiles worriedly._

_Freddy shifted. “It feels so…" He shuddered. "Disgusting.”_

_“I’d imagine. I don’t even think Foxy’s was this bad.” The rabbit ran his hand across the wounded soul again, his energy sucking off more of the residue. “It’s so damaged that I’m actually concerned. Something really bad must have happened to the guy if it’s this unstable.”_

_“I think it was an accident,” Freddy said. “I have a feeling he’s got next to no control of his powers from how many chances he’s had to use them, and despite how deep this cut is, it’s very sloppy and uncoordinated. He got a lucky hit.”_

_Chica raised a brow. “Next to no control?” she repeated. She wouldn’t say that Tear was sloppy._

_“I have that feeling because of last week. Him holding me off from suffocating him makes a lot more sense now.”_

_Foxy returned. “Here,” the fox said, handing Bonnie the rag._

_Bonnie took it with his one hand, the other focusing on getting the guard’s residue off of Freddy’s soul. “It’s almost all off.” It was dripping from his hand, making a mess of the floor._

_Chica mocked a gag. “That better disappear, because I’m not cleaning it up.”_

_“It is,” Foxy said. He was watching it disappear, the dark grey puddle growing at the same time it was disappearing. “Except on Bonnie’s hand.”_

_“Unfortunately,” the older muttered. He scrubbed at his hand with the rag, relived when he saw that most of it had come off. Most of it was gone from the Tear, the speckles that were left already being absorbed. “Now I can heal it up.”_

_Healing wasn’t hard. It was just a matter of focusing their energy onto a wounded spot and sharing it. Freddy shivered, as did his soul, at the feeling of the Tear knitting itself together under Bonnie’s hand. He hadn’t had a Tear like this in a long time. He felt Bonnie connect with him, a calming feeling washing through his wires. It was another thing they could do, calm each other down with their powers, which was extremely helpful in cases where the Tears were massive._

_“There,” Bonnie announced after a few minutes, pulling back. His eyes were back to normal, tinted with a hopeful light. “It should heal by itself now.”_

_“Do you feel any better?” Chica asked, orchid eyes bright with concern._

_“A bit.” Freddy gave a weak smile. “I’ll be fine with some rest.”_

_Foxy looked back down the hallway. “What do we do about the guard?” If they could find out where he went, that is._

_Freddy’s expression darkened instantly. “Don’t go near him,” he ordered. “A knife was one thing, but now that we know what he can do, it’s too dangerous to be near him.”_

_“He hurt you!” Chica exclaimed. She shouldn’t have been surprised at Freddy’s order, but she was._

_“Which is precisely why I don’t want any of you getting near him. If he did this to me, he can do it to you._

_“But-!”_

_Freddy raised a hand and shook his head. “No. All of you are going to stay away from him for the time being until we can figure out a safer way of getting him.”_

_Foxy’s face was the picture of disbelief, his jaw dropped just so. “So we don’ even try ta get him?”_

_“Exactly. Just leave him alone for now. That’s final.”_

_No one argued, though Foxy opened his jaw. He shut it just as quickly._

_Freddy stretched, grimacing when he felt something shift. “Ugh, a joint popped.”_

_“You’re getting old,” Chica chuckled softly._

_The bear made a face. “I’m only two years older than all of you.”_

_“Still old,” Foxy murmured, looking away innocently._

_“I heard that,” Freddy grumbled, but his voice wasn’t heated. Everyone knew he wasn’t mad. He planted his feet on the ground. “Now help me get to the stage.”_

_“Are you sure?” Bonnie asked, though he was already reaching to help Freddy stand. “We have enough time before the janitor arrives.”_

_“He’s been very punctual as of late,” the fox muttered. The guy was a pain in the ass and Foxy didn’t like him. Of course, there wasn’t any real reason to kill him, so they left him alone._

_“I’d rather get settled into my spot.” Freddy gave them a grin when he managed to stand on his legs without wobbling. “See? I’m already recovering. I’ll be fine.”_

_Despite Freddy’s cheerfulness, the others didn’t feel entirely soothed._

“Is he asleep?”

Chica looked over. Freddy was standing in his usual spot, eyes shut and body still. “Yeah,” she said. He must have fallen asleep the moment the janitor left.

“Good. It’ll help it heal.” Bonnie set his guitar down and hopped off the stage. “I’ll write down a note for the manager. Freddy can’t perform today.”

Foxy slipped from the curtains. “I thought ye said it wasn’ that bad,” he said, anxiety creeping back to him.

“It’ll get bad if he pushes himself,” the rabbit responded. “Singing and swiveling around for hours isn’t what he needs right now. He needs to take it easy for the weekend or else it’ll get bad.”

“But he’s going to be okay?” Chica asked. She knew Freddy would be, because it was Freddy after all, but to hear it be said again would be nice.

“Of course,” Bonnie said. There was a slight cheer in his tone, but it was dim. “He’ll be fine.”

Chica sighed. She would accept that. “Okay. Go get a note from the front desk and stick it to the manager’s door.”

Bonnie nodded and headed for the front desk.

Foxy plopped onto his knees in front of a table, settling his arms and head on it. He could break a chair if he just dropped down. “Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered. “What a night.”

Chica settled down across the table. She looked just as exhausted. “Totally,” she sighed.

Bonnie trudged back from the front desk. His right eye flickered as a line extended from his palm to stick the note to the manager’s door. “I’m super tired now,” he said.

The chicken looked over, unsurprised. “With how bad that Tear was, I’m not surprised. You feel okay?”

Bonnie sat down on his knees at the end of the table. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Silence.

“So…” Bonnie looked at the others. “What do we do?”

“We kill the bastard the moment he walks in Monday,” Foxy deadpanned. “It’s the easiest thing ta do.”

“We shouldn’t try anything,” Chica said. “We aren’t cheaters or rule-breakers.”

That was what Freddy usually said. Foxy raised a brow at her. “Seriously? He hurt Freddy. I think it’s time we change the rules.”

“And Freddy wants us to stay away,” she reminded. “We shouldn’t disobey him, not when he’s hurt. He doesn’t need that stress, Foxy.”

The fox sighed, slumping. “I know,” he muttered. “But we have ta do somethin’. We can’ just let the little rat get away with this.”

“He’s not going to, but we just need to back off for now,” Bonnie said. “Besides, he’ll be confused if we just suddenly leave him alone. It’ll make him paranoid and more likely to mess up whenever we do go after him. It evens itself out.”

“True.”

Quiet blanketed them again. It was so strange not hearing Freddy’s voice or the sound of the elder periodically turning the pages to a book borrowed from the lost and found. It wasn’t often that Freddy fell asleep before them, but this was a special case that made them all uncomfortable. Even though Freddy was right on stage, the others felt anxious without him being readily available. They could look out for themselves, they didn’t _need_ Freddy there, but they _wanted_ him there.

“It’s just so bizarre,” Bonnie said after a moment. “The guard has powers just like us. How the heck is that even possible?”

None of them could give a plausible answer. They had gotten theirs through the Children, each of them leaving a piece behind when they moved on. It had taken a while to get used to the feelings of fiery rage that were left in each piece, but the animatronics had adapted it, honed it. Getting used to their new abilities had taken much longer, but they had each other to learn from and help.

That didn’t meant they knew how _everything_ worked, however.

“Don’t know, and honestly I don’ care. It’s not goin’ ta matter when he kill him.” Foxy huffed. “If he can’ control them fer shit, why can’ we just go after him?”

“Because if he did that to Freddy on accident, imagine what he could do on purpose,” Chica answered.

Foxy noticed that Bonnie had spaced out, the animatronic staring off into nothing. He nudged the other with his elbow. The rabbit startled with a quiet squeak. “Ye alright?”

Bonnie gave a small nod, though his rose eyes were skittish. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I’m fine.”

Neither of them bought it. “What’s wrong?” Chica enquired.

A moment passed where Bonnie just looked at them, uncertain. Then, “…Isn’t it really weird that this guard looks like Mikey and has our powers?” he asked them.

Foxy’s face closed off. “Not this again,” he muttered.

Chica looked at Foxy cautiously. “Bonnie…” Her voice was filled with a warning. This was not the time.

But Bonnie pressed on. “I mean, maybe it’s possible,” he said. “What if Mikey-?”

Foxy slammed his fist on the table. Bonnie and Chica stiffened, the purple rabbit shutting his mouth and cowering. The ice was already razor thin, and Bonnie had put a crack in it.

“Mikey. Is. Dead.” Sounding it out only drove the knife deeper. The accented voice was cold and stiff. “I killed him, he’s dead. Stop fuckin’ remindin’ me and move on.”

Bonnie frowned, guilty. “Foxy, I wasn’t trying to-.”

“Bonnie, another word and I’m goin’ ta punch ye in the face.”

It wasn’t often when things got physical, but a few punches had been thrown here and there in the past, and Bonnie didn’t want a repeat of the one time Foxy had literally knocked his eyeballs out. Even though none of them were proud of hurting each other and they always apologized afterwards, that didn’t mean accidents never happened anymore.

“…Let’s just get ready,” Chica said after a few minutes of silence.

Foxy stood up. “Yeah, ye should.” He turned and walked towards the Cove without another word.

Bonnie stood as well. “Foxy,” he called, voice weak.

The fox didn’t acknowledge him. Foxy stepped up to the Cove’s ledge and disappeared between the curtains.

Chica sighed. “Come on, Bonnie.”

He looked at her, rosy eyes dim. “Aren’t you even a little suspicious about the guard?”

The orchids became stony. “I don’t want to talk about it either. Drop it.”

“But…”

“He’s dead, Bonnie,” Chica snapped, her voice strained. Her eyes were tinted grey, irises milky. “I saw him, you saw him, Freddy saw him; we all saw him. There’s no way a human child could survive that.”

Something sparked in Bonnie at that. “But the guard has our powers-!”

Chica turned on her heel. “I’m done talking about this,” she told him, walking towards the stage. “Get on stage before the staff comes in.”

Bonnie stared at her back. He sighed, drained. He knew everyone was right. Mikey was dead, Bonnie had seen the child himself. He knew it was just a dumb speck of hope, something he was clinging to because he couldn’t move on from having such a bright and happy light ripped away from him. Mikey had been everyone’s child, it was just as hard on everyone else to accept the facts, but Bonnie just never fully let the child he had seen as baby brother go.

And he still couldn’t.

_"I love you, Bunny!”_

He dragged himself on stage and picked up his guitar. He would go to the supply closet later, where he could shove his face into the extra blankets and scream his anguish into the fabric without prying eyes. For now, Bonnie just settled into his spot and tried to ignore the tension in the room.

And the nagging feeling that he was onto something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your support! More to come!
> 
> (And no, Bunny wasn't a typo. It's a nickname C;)


	24. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a strangely normal breakfast, Chris takes Mike to the hospital to meet Curt and Maddie, two of the many healthcare providers in on the secret of the pizzeria. A very offhand comment by Curt has Mike proving that he still has some defiant life in him and gives Chris a little hope about the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late chapter! Bad weather hit my wifi and tornado watches/warnings were going on for a while Sunday, and then I got really busy with stuff yesterday. It wasn't just outside stuff; I basically rewrote the ending I had partially written and made _huge_ modifications to chapters beforehand. This chapter remained relatively the same, but everything after this either new or heavily changed. Thank you guys so much for being patient.
> 
> And there's fanart! Mazanica made fanart of Miss Lady! You can find the beautiful piece on my tumblr under the Miss Lady tag and on Mazanica’s tumblr (seriously, check out their tumblr, their art style is really cool <3) They made two versions, which made me realize that I hadn't actually explained Miss Lady's race. The reason why I'll leave in the end notes. In the meantime, enjoy the chapter and check out Mazanica's tumblr.

Mike’s nose twitched at the smell of breakfast. His fingers twitched at the faint throbbing of his arm.

The teen sat up, bleary-eyed, but rested. His joints popped as he stretched, a hiss escaping him when his left arm strained its muscles. The pain seemed more intense without the added adrenaline of fear and the ibuprofen. He could definitely feel it now, but it wasn’t _so_ bad. He had experienced a lot worse.

Just the thought of that had Mike remembering what he had confessed last night and the clutches of sleep swiftly withdrawing.

He got out of bed carefully. The ends of the pants were a bit too big, stretching to his toes. The shirt was the same way. Mike couldn’t help the small shiver of discomfort at the sight of his arms, more at the sight of the right one than the bandaged left. Chris was going to see them, and the shock of the man seeing them last night hadn’t entirely worn off.

Mike quietly opened the door. He could hear the sound of something sizzling. It was a heavenly lure, the smell of breakfast, one that had Mike creeping across the living room. Chris was at the stove, his back to Mike. Whatever he was making, it smelled really good. 

“I thought you said you didn’t cook,” Mike said, tilting his head.

“I said I wasn’t the best healthy eater, not that I couldn’t cook.” Chris glanced back. “Nice bedhead. I couldn’t tell the difference between that and your normal style.”

“Ha.” He peered over the counter. “What are you making?”

“Breakfast.”

“I never would have known.”

“You can be a little shit when you want to be. Eggs and pancakes.”

“Really?” Mike squealed, hopping.

A sigh. “You’re not ever going to get tired of eating these things, are you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Go sit down. They’re almost done.”

“Can I have chocolate chips?” Mike asked, his eyes comically big.

Chris glanced back flatly. Despite his expression, there was no heat in his eyes. “You can if you go sit down.”

Mike had to hold himself back from making the leap of faith to the couch. Chris could tell.

Breakfast was done a few minutes later. Chris came out with two plates in hand, mugs balanced on them. He was unfazed by the threat of something spilling. He bent over and set them both on the coffee table expertly before sitting down. The plates had two pancakes each on them, chocolate chips marking Mike’s and syrup on Chris’s, and scrambled eggs. The smell of coffee floated from Chris’s mug, the color orange peeking from Mike’s.

Mike was gaping. “How did you carry all of that?”

“Worked as a waiter for a while,” he answered. “It sucked, but I got some damn good balancing skills from it.”

Mike raised a brow. “Don’t you have to be nice for that job?”

Chris couldn’t help the snort. “That’s funny.” He picked up a fork. “Get to work on that, kid.”

It was good. The pancakes weren’t as fluffy as Petunia’s, but they were good. Mike could taste a faint trace of lemon. The eggs were just as tasty, especially when he got ahold of the salt. Chris ate a bit slower, more focused on his coffee.

After a few minutes, Chris knew he had to say it. It was like ripping off a band-aid. “We’re going to the hospital after breakfast,” Chris announced.

Mike stiffened. Paled. He looked at Chris, cautious. “I thought you said we weren’t going to the hospital.”

“Mike, you need to see a doctor. I want him to check and see if I missed any rust. And you need a checkup. Fuck knows what was on Foxy’s hook.”

That was true, Mike couldn’t deny, but the hospital? “You sewed it up,” he said weakly.

“I didn’t give you a tetanus shot,” Chris responded.

“I need a shot?” That meant his needed to roll up his sleeve, and that also meant…

Chris sighed. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of needles, too.”

“I don’t think so,” Mike said. He gave a small shrug. “My shots were usually spaced out.”

The hazel eyes got wide and weary. “What were your last shots?”

Mike felt like his brain had shorted out. “Uh…”

“Yeah, you definitely need a checkup.”

After they finished eating, Chris took the dishes to the kitchen and Mike went to change. None of the clothing fit Mike like a glove, but some old jeans paired with a belt and a loose sweater offered him some comfort. He came out a few minutes later, dressed and reluctantly ready to leave.

Chris grabbed an extra coat off the rack and tossed it to the kid. “Here.”

Mike caught it. He frowned. “Where’s my jacket?”

“I need to sew it up and wash it. Besides, this one’s warmer.” Chris pulled his coat on. “It’s still snowing and it’s freezing. That jacket isn’t going to do shit against that.”

The raven-head slipped on the coat. It was too big, but it was warm and cozy. He couldn’t lie that it was definitely nicer than his old jacket. He snuggled into it, relishing in the swiftly growing warmth.

Chris noticed and chuckled. Mike looked like a puppy that had just rolled over in a blanket. “Let’s go.”

The sky was grey and white, snow fluttering down. There was a fair dusting of snow on the ground. Mike tried to keep his tongue discreet as he stuck it out to catch a flake. Chris saw it as the kid was rounding the truck. He didn’t say anything as he got in.

The hospital wasn’t too far, just about ten to fifteen minutes. The roads were mostly clear of people, the occasional snow plow going by. Mike stared out the window to watch the snow fall, the radio playing quietly in the background. He absently fiddled with the coat sleeve and nibbled on his lips.

Chris noticed that as well. “Mike, there’s nothing to worry about,” he said. “Curt’s not going to say shit about anything."

Mike scratched lightly at his arm. “Really?” he asked quietly.

Chris shook his head. “No. Everyone’s got a secret on file, kid. No one’s going to risk anything when anyone can pull up their information.”

“But I’m not going to blackmail anyone.”

“Who said you were going to be doing the blackmailing?”

That got Mike thinking. “Do you have a secret on file?”

Chris didn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”

They pulled into the hospital parking lot a few minutes later. Mike wanted nothing more than to sink into the coat and disappear at the sight of the place. He had always been scared of them as a child, and now was no different.

“Maddie’s going to take us back immediately,” Chris said as he parked. “She’s a nice girl, not too much older than me. You’ll like her.”

Mike recalled what Chris had said earlier. “But Curt’s not nice.”

The janitor huffed. “Let’s just say he’s even more of a prick than me.”

Maddie was easy to spot. She was meandering around the entrance, obviously attempting to look busy. Her hair was a plume of red curls, her eyes a pebble brown and her skin dotted with freckles. A set of glasses sat on her nose, dusty red and thick.

“Hey, Chris,” Maddie said as they approached. Her face was friendly and bright.

“You don’t look too busy,” Chris said, his tone joking as he shook her hand.

“We’re never busy when there’s an injured guard.” She looked down at Mike at that. “You must be Mike. I’m Maddie.”

“Hi,” was a quiet rasp past Mike’s lips.

“Chris told me that you got a nasty cut from Foxy. We’ll look at his handiwork with the needle and check for any rust he might have missed, then get you a tetanus shot.” Maddie turned around and waved her hand. “I’ll get you settled in.”

Her tone was oddly…annoying. Mike looked at Chris for an explanation as to why she spoke to him like a child.

Chris caught his eye. “She has kids and she works with kids,” he whispered.

“I’m seventeen,” Mike retorted quietly.

“You’re a kid, Mike.”

The room Mike was ushered into was…kiddy. It made his cheeks red at the sight of scribbled drawings and badly colored in pictures dotting the baby blue walls and the box of toys in the corner. The paper on the table was covered with cartoony fish.

 _I’m. Not. Five,_ Mike thought defiantly, red-faced and pouty-cheeked.

Chris pretended not to notice Mike’s obvious embarrassment. Honestly, he could sympathize. His parents had been very careful about what he saw in a doctor’s office or a hospital.

“Have a seat,” Maddie said, patting the table.

Mike walked over and hopped back onto the table. He sent a small glare to the childish stool hiding under it. He kept the coat on, feeling the need to hide away more than ever. Chris stood next to the table and leaned against the wall.

“Okay, we’re just going to do a small checkup, some questions, and then I’ll get Curt in here. Sound good?” she asked.

Mike glanced at Chris, unsure. The man gave a small nod. Mike looked at her. “Sure.”

The checkup wasn’t as bad as Mike thought it was going to be. The hammer hitting his knee, his ears and eyes being checked, his weight; nothing mortifying. It just made him uncomfortable every time Maddie wrote something down, because he had no idea what she was writing about him. His throat was checked as well, the bruising Freddy had left finally fading to an ugly yellow with faint traces of purple. Apparently there was no long-lasting damage.

The questions came next. They were standard, like if he had ever taken drugs or had intercourse. Embarrassing and fairly invasive, especially with Chris in the room, but Mike held close to what Chris had said about them not saying anything. He said no to just about everything. He wondered if Maddie had done anything like drugs when she was a teenager. It seemed out of the ballpark, but Mike knew people like her had definitely had their wild fun.

Maddie was scribbling something down. “Okay, so because you’re a special case, the company’s going to cover everything and not report it to your guardian.” She turned and walked to the door. “I’ll get Curt.”

When she was gone, Mike worried about what she said. Special case? What did that mean? What did Chris say?

Chris must have read his mind, because he said, “I said that you and your parents aren’t talking to each other. I didn’t say anything else.”

Mike took in a deep breath. “Thank you.”

Curt arrived a few minutes later. He was tall, blocky, and grizzled, his outfit slightly wrinkled and a chart in hand. His hair was a limp black, his eyes a dark brown. He looked bored.

Mike fought from gaping when he recognized Curt's face. He vividly remembered the man leaving Miss Lady's apartment in the early morning shortly after he moved in, disheveled and grumbling as Miss Lady's laughter echoed from her apartment. They hadn't shared any words, though Mike had gotten a nasty glare from the obviously embarrassed man.

He had a feeling that was one of the secrets on Curt's file.

“You’re one of the lucky ones that escaped Foxy, huh?” Curt said. “I’m surprised. Usually it leaves more than a cut. Some people have lost limbs to that thing.”

The thought of the animatronic that used to play pirates and hide-and-seek with him ripping off limbs made Mike sick and pale. “Oh.”

“Just take a look at the cut,” Chris said gruffly. Curt didn’t need to scare people, but he liked doing it.

“Fine. Take off the coat.”

The coat was reluctantly taken off. It settled into a pile behind him. Mike slowly pulled up his sleeve, revealing the swaddled limb. A speck of pink was above the wounded area.

“Damn, he’s on his way to become a mummy with how shitty your wrapping is.” Curt slid a pair of scissors from his coat pocket. “Let’s get this over with.”

Chris snorted quietly. “Were you doing arts and crafts before you got here?”

“Cutting open a stupid kid’s cast, so basically.”

Mike looked at Chris with big, worried eyes as the gauze was cut away. The janitor put up a small smile, then sent a hard look to Curt. The doctor caught his eye and shrugged.

The bandages fell away. Mike looked down, heart pounding. Curt just raised a brow. “What’s going on here?”

“Like what I said over the phone, it’s none of your business, Curt,” Chris hissed.

The man shrugged. “It’ll be my business when he’s in here for trying to kill himself.”

Chris’s hand clenched. “Curt…”

Mike practically ripped his arm back. Curt jerked his head back. “Just pointing out the obvious, kid,” he said.

“What’s obvious is that you’re a dick!” Mike snapped. “Are you going to do your job or not?”

Chris's eyes widened at the teen's voice. Curt’s eye twitched. “Give me your arm,” he demanded briskly.

“Are you going to keep quiet about it?”

“Are you going to shut your bratty mouth?”

“Are you going to do something about your dick, because I’ve heard some things about it around town.”

Chris choked on a snort, cheeks red as he tried to restrain himself. Curt recoiled, eyes wide. He bared his teeth. “What the fuck did you just say?” he snarled.

Mike shrugged nonchalantly. “The truth. You pay enough to get around easily.”

Chris raised a brow, stifling his laughter. “Got something to confess, Curt?” he asked innocently.

Curt turned on his heel and stormed towards the door. “I’m getting Maddie,” he said shortly. He practically punched the door open before thundering down the hallway.

Chris finally broke. “Holy shit! What the fuck was that?” he laughed.

Pink teased Mike’s cheeks. “I… He was being stupid,” he excused.

“That was so fucking good!” Chris gave him a hard pat on the back. “I’ve never seen him so pissed before!”

Mike was grinning widely. His chest felt tight with pride. He hadn’t been expecting Chris to be…proud.

Chris wiped his eyes. They were watering from laughing so hard. “Oh my god, where did that even come from? That was a low blow, kid.”

“Uh…” Mike scratched the back of his neck. “I may have recognized him from when Miss Lady brought him to her apartment shortly after I moved in.”

The man gaped at him. “Are you serious? You’re kidding, you have to be. I really hope you’re not, but you have to be kidding.”

“She ranted about… _it_ for hours after he left.” Mike shuddered. It was so gross whenever Miss Lady talked about things she did with the people she brought home. She liked to go into detail because it freaked him out.

Chris looked like he was about to start laughing again. “What a dumbass.” He crossed his arms, smug. “And you know what you just pulled?”

Mike raised a confused brow. “What?”

“Blackmail.”

It was a few minutes before Maddie came in. The redhead had a knowing twinkle in her eye, her smile more of a smirk. Mike looked down at his lap, suddenly embarrassed again. Chris just started snickering.

“Curt didn’t tell me what was said, but if he’s not looking at me and you’re laughing, I have a feeling it was a sensitive topic for him,” Maddie said.

Chris glanced down at the kid. “You could say that.”

Maddie looked at Mike’s arm. Concern instantly painted her face. “Oh my,” she gasped quietly.

Mike couldn’t help but tuck his arm against his stomach. Chris gave her a stiff frown. “Maddie…”

The redhead bit her lip, conflicted. “Not a word, I know. Sorry.” Her smile seemed a bit more forced when she turned back to Mike. “Let’s take a look at that gash.”

The boy hesitantly extended his arm. Maddie’s fingers were cool against his skin, gentle. She narrowed her eyes, surveying the outside and the stitching closely.

“Those lessons really paid off,” she said after a moment. “Your handiwork is almost flawless, Chris.”

Lessons? Mike shot Chris a confused look. Chris had taken lessons on sewing? He had mentioned sewing up people before, but if he stopped caring about the night guards and the last one had died after a year, then how was he still sharp on it after so long without practice?

“Unfortunately, I’ll have to cut it off so I can see if there’s any rust particles left,” she added.

The moment she touched the stitches, Mike felt his blood heat. He shut his eyes instantly when he felt it. He became hypersensitive again, everything too much. He could smell each layer of sickness and antiseptic, the unending flow of tears and drool, and the sudden freezing temperature of the room.

He didn’t feel anything odd in his arm. Minus the stitches, he felt nothing. He could feel how the slash had carved through skin and muscle, but he couldn’t feel anything but the stitches and the skin slowly knitting itself together.

Mike gasped. “There’s nothing in it.”

Maddie looked at him curiously. “Pardon?”

“There’s no rust in it,” he said. “I know there isn’t.”

Mike’s eyes had been closed before he blurted out his proclamation. Chris had a feeling the kid’s powers had come into play. “I did do a thorough clean of it.”

Maddie’s eyes were gentle. “If you’re scared about me undoing the stitches, you won’t feel anything. You’ll get a painkiller for it.”

“No, there’s seriously nothing there,” the teen insisted. That and he was really uncomfortable with the thought of the stitches being undone. “I know there isn’t.”

Chris knew it wasn’t a responsible call, but he had a feeling it was a good one. “You sure?” he asked Mike.

“I’m sure,” Mike said.

Maddie’s eyes went back and forth, obviously curious about how Chris had just accepted a boy’s word. “…Well,” she said, “I guess I’ll get his shots ready.”

Mike scratched at his arm. “How many do I need?”

“Not many at all. The tetanus you definitely need, though.” She gave him a gentle smile. “Scared of needles?”

“We’re about to find out,” Chris said. He looked at Mike. “Do you need me to hold your hand?”

Mike was about to snap at him when he realized that Chris wasn’t being entirely sarcastic. Not with that expression. “No?”

Chris shrugged. “Your call.”

Maddie perked up. “Speaking of that, I called Logan to tell him you two were here. Protocol, you know?”

Chris sighed. Great. “At least you can’t back out now,” he whispered to the teen.

Mike held out his hand, trembling lightly. Chris frowned, but took it. He didn’t wince at the vice grip that dug into his roughened palm.

Maddie didn’t comment on it when she returned with the needles.

\- - - - -

Mike’s right arm was already starting to throb. At least he had gotten some painkillers for his left, which he had to take after dinner. He felt exhausted and wrung out.

And incredibly scared, because now they were driving to Logan’s house.

“Are you sure you don’t want to say goodbye to Curt?” Chris asked, smirking as he got into the truck.

“I think that was enough of a goodbye,” Mike snickered, climbing into the passenger seat.

“It was about time someone stepped on his toes. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been trying to get him to take him down a peg? A while.” Chris shot Mike a grin. “That was the first time I’ve ever seen him storm out of the room.”

“Do you think I could do it again?”

“Absolutely.”

Between the radio and the occasional swears from Chris due to another driver, the drive was pretty quiet. Usually Mike would appreciate it, but now he needed talking. He needed Chris to start talking about things that didn’t matter or rant about something. Mike didn’t care, he just needed to hear _someone_ speak.

“Did you use your powers to make that call?” Chris asked after a long bought of silence.

Mike looked at him nervously. “I think so.”

“How does that work? Did you just switch them on and check, or…?” Really, Chris had no idea how this worked.

“She touched it and I just… I freaked out a little.” The blue eyes slid down to his arm. “I didn’t feel anything unnatural. I felt…” He shook his head. “I don’t know. Do you understand?”

“I…guess?” Chris was just was confused. “So whatever isn’t natural, you can…sense or whatever?” He huffed. “I have no clue. It feels like my brain is melting every time I try and think of an explanation for this.”

Mike sighed. “Mine’s partially gone, I know how you feel.”

Chris whipped his head over, disturbed. “Did you seriously just say that?”

Mike looked at him sheepishly, smiling weakly. “Maybe?”

The man grimaced. “I would say too soon, but then I remember you were nine when it happened.”

“Eight.”

“Definitely not too soon.”

They pulled into Logan’s driveway. The house didn’t look so friendly anymore, not with what Mike was about to say inside of it. He was slow when getting out of the truck, and not just because both of his arms were hurting.

The snow was starting to come down harder. Chris sneezed.

Mike found he couldn’t move any further when he got to the step in front of the door. He felt frozen to the walkway, the snow and slush gripping his feet and freezing over them. He could hear his heart pounding, feel it thudding against his chest. He couldn’t move any further, he just couldn’t.

_I can’t do this._

“Mike.” The teen looked up at Chris nervously. Chris’s expression was firm. “It’s going to be fine.”

Mike held his eyes for a moment. He shuffled behind Chris a moment later, bandaged fingers clutching at the man’s jacket sleeve. “Okay,” he whispered.

That was more than Chris was hoping for. He pressed the doorbell. Buddy’s barking started almost immediately. It was suddenly so loud to Mike, so foreboding and scary. He got that feeling again, the feeling of when he felt his powers surfacing.

“Don’t leave me,” Mike begged quietly, clinging to Chris’s arm.

Chris didn’t know how he felt about the crack he felt growing bigger in his heart. “I won’t.”

The door creaked open. Petunia was frowning, concerned. “Chris, is everything okay? Maddie called earlier saying you were at the hospital. What happened?”

Chris took in a breath. He glanced back down at Mike when he felt the grip tighten, seeing the kid’s face buried into his sleeve. It was going to be like ripping off a duct tape bandage, but once the initial sting was iced, everything would be fine. He was sure of it.

_It will be._

“There’s something that you guys should know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, not a doctor.
> 
> I wasn't sure of Miss Lady's final design regarding her race and skin tone/color. I know that sounds very reckless to introduce a character without being 100% sure of who they are, but it actually happens to a lot of people. Tweaks are always being made to my characters, and the same goes for just about everyone else. Things change.
> 
> I recently watched My Cousin Vinny where Lisa/Marisa Tomei (btw beautiful gal) really hit home how Miss Lady acted and looked. On the other hand, I also recently saw Deadpool 2 where Domino/Zazie Beetz (also beautiful gal) did almost the same thing (more of the look than the personality). I got to thinking as the story went on and I kept Miss Lady's race ambiguous. I recently decided that she would be a mixed race woman after seeing Mazanica’s fanart because I honestly couldn’t decide between the two interpertations. I could imagine her as both, so I thought "why not both?" in a sense, and it stuck.
> 
> Remember, if you want fast updates on things happening outside, some more depth in questions about the AU I've answered, or fanart (Thank you again, Mazanica <3), follow me on tumblr.


	25. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an hour of listening to muffled voiced from beneath the bed in the spare bedroom, Mike braces himself when Petunia knocks on the door. A cup of cocoa, a woman's journey to acceptance, and a warm hug are the beginnings of what Mike could call a home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The weekend got incredibly stressful and draining, so I didn't get much time to spend on the chapter. Sorry for the lateness, but it couldn't be helped. I got in some time to relax despite that, so I'm fine.
> 
> **!!! Reiterating the use of the tags "past abuse/abuse" and "past sexual abuse" again. It gets pretty heavy. Again, caution. It gets a little graphic !!!**

He really couldn’t do it.

It had started sleeting nearly a half hour ago, the room having become darker with sky. There was more rain than snow hitting the window. There was enough where it was soothing for Mike, the teen burrowed under the bed in the spare bedroom.

_I’m such a coward._

The fear hadn’t gone away when Petunia invited them inside. In fact, it got worse. Chris’s words had swiftly become void, his chest tightening like a screw when he saw Logan come down from upstairs. The girls were at a friend's house, but their absence gave Mike little reprieve.

Mike hadn't even sat down before he politely asked if he could use the bathroom, ignoring Chris’s incredulous look, and making his escape upstairs. He hadn’t gone to the bathroom. He had hidden in the spare bedroom under the bed like a child, because it was the one place where he could actually fit.

Chris had come up after a mere minute and talked to him through the door.

_“I can’t do it, Chris, I can’t.”_

_“Mike, it’s going to be okay.”_

_“How do you know?”_

_“Mike, I’ve known them for nearly four years. Whatever you think they’re going to do isn’t going to happen.”_

_“But_ I _don’t know that! I can’t trust it!_ ”

_“…You’re not coming out of there, are you?”_

_“I… I can’t. I’m sorry.”_

_“How about I tell them?”_

_“…Don’t leave me, okay? No matter what they say, please don’t leave me.”_

_“We’ve been over this, kid, I’m not leaving you.”_

Mike had been listening carefully for the past hour, but it was futile. He could only hear muffled words, barely anything at all. He had no idea what anyone was saying or doing, and it only made his heart pound harder and his mind twist faster. Every moment of silence added to the slowly growing panic.

The silence lasted much longer this time. Mike realized that the conversation was over, and he gripped at his sleeves tightly as he waited for someone to find him.

There were light footsteps. Someone was coming up the stairs. Mike forced himself to remain in the present. Sir’s feet were heavy and unforgiving against the wooden stairs, whereas these ones were gentle. Mike just wished he could tell who they belonged to, but it wasn’t like it mattered.

A knock. Mike startled violently despite him hearing the footsteps. “Yeah?” he croaked. He instantly regretted giving away his position.

“Can I come in?” Petunia’s voice floated through the door.

Of course Chris told them where he was. Mike wanted to say no, but instead he said, “Okay.”

The door opened. Petunia’s feet were bare, her toenails painted a bright crimson. Her dress, bright olive, stretched low enough where Mike could see the ends easily. Her movement was paused, and Mike knew she was looking for him. He wanted to tell her he was under the bed, but he just wanted more time before everything came crashing down.

There was the sound of something being set down, a tray with glasses on top, before the woman dropped onto her knees to look under the bed. “What are you doing under there, Mike?” she asked gently.

Mike shuffled in his spot, looking away. He should have known that she’d search the bed first. “Hiding,” he admitted quietly, ashamed.

“Hiding from what? Us?”

The lack of response and the listless staring said enough.

“It’s okay, honey pie,” Petunia said, her voice steady. “No one’s going to hurt you. You’re safe here.”

Mike wished he could believe her. He just _couldn’t_.

“I brought hot chocolate,” she said after a short pause. “I didn’t know what you wanted with it, so I got just about everything I could think of. The edible straws, marshmallows, sprinkles…” 

Mike’s eyes became wet. He hid his face in his arms, sniffling. His shoulders quivered.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Petunia asked.

The offer was nice and all, but… “Don’t make me,” he murmured.

“Okay,” Petunia said, relenting. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

A beat passed. The rain was coming down a touch harder.

“Are you going to tell the police?” Mike asked.

Petunia fought the sigh. “It would be the responsible thing to do, but no,” she said. “Abuse is a very sticky situation to explain, and we’re not going to put your safety at risk. You're safe here.”

Despite her answer, he still couldn’t look at her. Yes, he trusted Logan and Petunia, but he didn’t _trust_ them. It wouldn’t make sense if he said it aloud, but it was what it was. Mike wanted to give them the rest of his trust, they deserved it for how kind and caring they were towards him, but he just couldn’t do it as much as he wanted to.

The woman sat up and turned, her back against the bed. “I was in a very similar spot, Mike,” Petunia said after a moment. Her voice was quiet.

Mike hesitantly peered up. Even Petunia? First Chris, and now her?

“I lived in a flat in London,” she said. “My family was very poor, so we had to move in with my grandparents after my father lost his job and couldn’t find one. It wasn’t that he was lazy, it was just no one wanted to hire a man with one hand.”

Mike frowned lightly. “How did he lose it?” he asked.

“An accident at an old job,” she answered. “Someone forgot he was fixing some machinery and turned it on. They had to amputate it right there.”

The teen shuddered. He didn’t even want to think about what that felt like.

“My grandparents were very…strict. Very old school,” Petunia said. “They didn’t like my mother because she couldn’t give birth after me, and they didn’t like me because I was a little girl who liked to be outside and play with bugs. They only tolerated us, and mother told me to do the same.

“Dad did small things around the neighborhood for money,” she went on. She folded her hands over her lap. “Mom stayed home and cooked and cleaned. All the while, my grandmother was doing everything she could to make me miserable. She wouldn’t let me go play and kept me on a tight curfew if I went to see friends, she would make me sit at her sewing table all day with no bathroom breaks or food, and she would hit me with a ruler whenever I did something she didn’t like, which was all the time.”

Mike stared at her back. “Does that mean you hate sewing?” Then why would she teach him?

“I hate sewing when people make me do when _they_ want to,” Petunia gently corrected. There was a firmness in her voice that had Mike realizing that she wasn't going to let that old bat take something from her. “I like sewing when I can do it when I want. I like teaching you how to sew because we can go at nice, even pace.”

The frequent breaks suddenly made a lot of sense.

“We lived with them for years. There was just never enough money to go around.” She absently twirled a red curl with her finger. “Dad was never home anymore. He just gave up hope on ever leaving and started spending most of the money on drinking and gambling. Mom was so tired of…everything, I suppose. The fighting, the drinking and gambling, and finally me.”

“What do you mean?” Mike asked.

“My grandparents spent years trying to mold me into the perfect lady, but I always fought back. It just got worse as I got older.” Petunia gazed lazily at the wall. “Mom was terrified of them kicking us out after a while and started agreeing with everything my grandma said. She didn’t realize that they were bluffing. There was no way they would give up a free cook.”

Mike had thought about Sir’s threats of forcing him out of the house and how those were the only times the man didn’t go through with something. There was no way he’d risk everyone finding out about his abused son.

“My grandfather had mentored a lot of men in his years. He had taken some of them on almost like his sons. He even treated them better than dad.” Petunia lightly gripped the carpet. “There was one friend that he was particularly close with. He came over regularly, brought food and cards. Mom only liked him for the food, dad never met him sober, and I didn’t like him at all.”

A chill went down the teen’s spine.

There was a moment of silence. “…I was fourteen when he molested me,” Petunia whispered. Everything in Mike’s body froze. “My grandmother said that I should be thankful that I was attracting men, and then she beat me with her ruler. He said he was amazed that his friend would even consider something so ugly. And my mother…” She wiped her eyes. “She did nothing.”

Everything suddenly felt too small. Breathing was getting hard for Mike.

“It went on like that for years. My grandfather’s friend would do what he wanted to me, my grandfather would laugh at me, my grandmother would beat me, and mom would stand by and do nothing. Dad was either drunk or unconscious when he was home.” Petunia nibbled her lip. “I couldn’t tell my friends what was happening. I was so scared that they’d throw me away for being dirtied.” She choked on the word. “They just knew that my father was a drunk gambler and that everyone else in the flat hated me. I couldn’t tell anyone what was happening.

“He raped me when I turned sixteen.” Her voice was wavering, her through tight and heart pounding. “He said that I should be thankful that he was the one who took my virginity and that he wore a condom. He even left money on the table, like it was a favor, and mom forced me to hold it and take it to the store to buy groceries.”

Mike was crying. She knew what it was like to feel terrified of her parents, of what it was like to carry the dirty feeling that followed him everywhere he went no matter how many hours he spent under the showerhead. She _knew_ , she knew everything, and the guilt of questioning her kindness in the beginning slammed into Mike like a stone punch.

“Then grandpa died.” Her voice was washed in reprieve. “I was _so_ relieved, because that meant he wouldn’t laugh at me and that his friend couldn’t come over anymore. I could take the abuse and neglect, but not the laughing or _his_ defiling.”

Mike had imagined what it would be like to find Sir dead. He had imagined it many times. It was always a mixture of terror, terror that a man like Sir could be killed, and joy that could come with it.

“But then the money started running out,” Petunia said. Her voice had lost the relief it held a moment before. “We had been living off of grandpa’s retirement, and dad had been squandering the money for booze and gambling. What little we had been living off of dwindled to near nothing. We needed money.”

Mike had a bad feeling as to where this was going.

“I heard mom on the phone one day. She was whispering, but I could hear every word.” The betrayal still stung, and Petunia’s hands clenched. “She was talking to him, asking how much he would pay for me. My own mother was going to sell me to the monster who had assaulted me.”

_But you’re here._

“I packed everything I could in my little suitcase and left through the fire escape. I had to make a small jump from my window and sneak down so none of the neighbors would start screaming. I never looked back.” A pause. “But…”

 _But there was nowhere to go,_ Mike knew.

“I had nowhere to go,” Petunia said. “My friends were willing to let me stay at their homes, as they usually were when I needed a place to stay, but there’s only so much they could do. I couldn’t find a job without the risk of my mom finding me, so I did chores instead, and that only paid so much from teenagers struggling to get by. I lived off of their charity for over a year. I worked every minute and saved every penny I could find to get a ticket for a boat going to America.”

 _I walked when I ran out of bus fair,_ Mike wanted to tell her, but his mouth wouldn’t open.

“I remember finally getting my ticket and waiting at the harbor. I was waiting to board when my mother grabbed me by the hair and started dragging me across the dock. She was screaming like an old banshee about how I had forced her and dad back on the streets and that I was lucky grandpa’s friend was still considering.”

Mike couldn’t picture anyone laying a hurtful hand on Petunia. She was just so tall, so regal, so strong. He didn’t like hurting people, but he didn’t know how control he’d be in of his powers if he ever met that horrible woman.

“Some people got her off me, and I sprinted for the boat. They took my ticket in a flash and let me on. They wouldn’t let her on.” A small grin passed her lips. “I blew her goodbye kisses with my middle finger.”

Mike couldn’t help the snicker.

“I was all alone when I got to America and I couldn’t find work for the longest time, but at least I was _free_.” Petunia let out a breath, like she had been holding it without noticing. “I was free from everyone.”

“But you were all alone,” Mike said quietly, like a reminder.

“I was,” she agreed. “But it didn’t take too long for a certain blond to find me.”

Hearing the story of how Petunia met Logan had Mike shuffling tensely. He nestled his chin on the carpet, wide-eyed.

“I was sleeping on a bus stop bench when I met Logan. He was coming home from his job at a bar.” She smiled wistfully. “His uniform was ruined. Someone had knocked his tray of beer, coffee, and pie into him. He looked so ridiculous.”

Mike could picture it, Logan dressed in a uniform splattered with food and drink.

“He woke me up and told me that the last bus had been hours ago. I don’t think he caught on that I was homeless.” She snorted softly. “He didn’t realize how it sounded when he asked if he could take me home.”

“Eww,” left Mike’s mouth before he could stop it.

“That’s what I said before I slapped him.” Petunia let out a laugh. “Oh, he was blubbering when he realized how it sounded. He was apologizing left and right and begged for my forgiveness. He made it much more dramatic than it needed to be. He even got on his knees and said he’d sing me any song I wanted if that’s what it took.”

The boy raised a brow. “Did you give him a song?”

“Of course I did,” she said like it was obvious. “I thought he was joking, but then he actually started singing – I wish I could remember the song, it was some hymn – with flawless perfection! I was speechless until he finished and asked if he had my forgiveness.”

“Did he?”

“No, but I finally gave in to his melodies and went home with him.”

Mike gave a small, crooked smile. “I didn’t know Logan could sing.”

“Oh, he can sing,” Petunia said, looking down at her side like Mike was beside her. “He was in everything that involved music at his school. He had just about every solo in school concerts. He even started a little garage band with some of his friends.”

That got Mike perked up. “What was it called?”

“The Sweet Blonds.” Petunia chuckled. She remembered the picture Logan had eagerly shown her years ago of him and three other of his friends with their different styles of hair. “They lasted fairly long. About a year, I think. Then they graduated and split up.”

It was…frighteningly easy to picture Logan in a garage band.

“He gave me a short tour around his little flat. It was messy, as you can imagine. Then he offered me the shower and some noodles that hadn’t expired. I took both.” She rolled her eyes. “While I was in the shower, he made his bed for me and then went outside to get dandelions from the curb to scatter them on the covers and tried to make a container of noodles seem like gourmet food by putting a tree leaf in the corner. He wrote ‘enjoy your stay’ in terrible cursive on a sticky note that had his grocery list on the back. Then he slept on the couch and drooled all over his pillow.”

“And that’s when you started liking him?” Mike ventured to guess, as far as a reach as it was.

“Absolutely not,” she said flatly, though she was smiling. “It made me realize he was a massive dork, that he needed a maid, and that he needed a pet. It was a long time before I started liking him more than a friend, and it took a while for me to see him as a friend, too.”

“But you stayed,” he pointed out.

“I stayed because I needed a place to stay and time to get on my feet,” Petunia said. A short pause. “And then I also stayed because he became a good friend after a while.”

But… “I’m not really sure where this is going now,” Mike admitted.

Petunia took in a breath. “It took me a very long time to trust someone. I was closed off, defensive, and had so many outbursts that it’s incredible Logan’s neighbors never called the police. Despite everything I did, Logan was always there for me. He never asked why I had nightmares or why I got so angry at old sewing machines. He didn’t poke or prod, he just gave his kindness without a second thought. He never expected me to give up a secret in exchange for his help. He was just kind to me.”

Mike looked at the floor, uncertain.

“And when we started dating… God, I remember being so afraid that he’d be disgusted with me. I told him everything when he first kissed me, because I felt so dirty and used by that monster.” The basil eyes were bright with tears. “Logan stayed. He told me that he loved me, that it wasn’t my fault, that I was beautiful, and that he would never force me to do that. He told me that I was free.”

“And now you have Caitlyn and Rosie,” Mike murmured.

“And it took a very long time for me to give myself to Logan like that. My fears didn’t magically disappear after our first time. Logan, of course, understood. He never forced me or guilted me even though he wanted a family, because he loved me.” She wiped at her face. “The point is that he waited. He helped me, he was kind to me, and he was so incredibly patient. He was there for me as a friend, not as someone looking for a one-time favor. It was because of Logan’s kindness that I opened up and began to trust again.”

Logan was the reason for all of this happening, the reason why Petunia was here talking to him now, all because he cared. It made Mike’s chest tighten and his eyes water.

“He got me to see a therapist, to see the world in brighter colors, and to smell the roses. He gave me hope that there was good in the world.” Petunia said, her voice shaky. “A little kindness goes a very long way, Mike. We’re here for you because we care, not because we want something in return. We want you to be safe and happy.”

Mike sniffled harshly. “My powers,” he rasped. “Aren’t you scared?” he asked raggedly.

“I’ll admit I’m…startled,” Petunia confessed, choosing the word carefully, “but I know you wouldn’t hurt any of us. Not on purpose.”

“But what if I lose control on accident? I nearly hit Chris.” And he never wanted to risk it again, but he knew he didn’t have much say in the matter.

“Then we fix it,” Petunia told him like it was the simplest thing in the world.

“But-!”

“Mike.” He stopped at the firmness of his name. “We aren’t going to hate you for this. Whatever these powers are from, you didn’t ask for them. You don’t deserve to be hurt and abandoned for something you can’t control. We’ll help you in whatever way we can.”

A sob escaped Mike.

Petunia turned and leaned down. She gave a watery smile. “Come here, honey pie.”

Mike crawled out from underneath the bed and into Petunia’s arms. She pulled him into her lap, hugging him tightly. He clung to her desperately, like she would disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough. He nuzzled her neck, sobbing. The smell of roses was like a blanket around him, soft and cradling. She was so warm, so safe, and he felt so connected to her because she _knew._

“I-it’s so scary,” Mike whimpered.

Petunia stroked his hair. Her eyes were shiny and her cheeks were wet. “I know,” she murmured. “It’s very scary.”

“I’m so scared,” the boy cried. “H-h-he’ll find me.”

 _“We'll_ find him,” Petunia corrected, her voice strained. “And we’ll make him pay for everything he’s done to you.”

Mike didn’t say anything in response to that. He just sobbed in her arms, clutching to her and the hope he was given. He was still so scared, so scared that everything was going to be ruined, but he felt so free and relieved that it was finally out that he had been hurt to the people that loved and cared for him.

“You’re home, honey pie,” Petunia murmured, rocking them both gently. “You’re home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come.
> 
> I'm very tired at the moment, so apologies for my sloppy writing.


	26. Bites and Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foxy has to live with that horrible day and the crushing guilt for the rest of his life. The guard has exceeded his unwanted stay, and whether or not he can kill the bastard, Foxy creates a plan to make the little rat regret ever being born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's more fanart, like aaaaaaa!! Mangleschmidt made an incredible piece with Mike (That was the first thing I saw when I woke up, nearly started off the day crying). You can go see it on her tumblr (which you should totally check out) as well as mine! Another big thanks to Mangleschmidt and Mazanica for their lovely fanart, and one to the readers! You guys are so amazing and I can't thank you all enough for your support and excitement towards the story.
> 
> I swear, I'm going to break down into tears one day, y'all are so amazing ;U;
> 
> Sorry if the chapter's late and a little sloppy. I'm tired as usual, lol. I could sleep for an entire day and still be just as tired.

Foxy scratched at the wall with his hook, chipping away at brick slowly. Some rust was coming off, but not much. Usually he scratched the wall when he was bored or incredibly angry, but he was just getting his hook ready for tomorrow.

Tomorrow was the day he got the bastard. After nearly a full week, it ended tomorrow.

He didn't tell the others what he was planning to do. Bonnie would just spout something about Mikey again, and Freddy and Chica would lecture him. Foxy knew he couldn't just ambush the guard outside the office, so he knew he had to improvise. He knew exactly what to do to hinder the little rat long enough to grab him, even if was something that would wrench at his insides and make the nightmares worse.

Foxy stopped sharpening his hook to instead lift up his hand. He stared at it for a moment, second guessing what he was about to do. Gathering his worst memories and most crushing emotions was risky to him. He had done this a few times before, throwing the slimy ball of negativity into the wall where it splattered and disappeared, but he had never actually hit someone with it. He could only imagine how it would feel for someone to experience everything he was going through within seconds of getting hit with it.

It had to be horrible, and that was what Foxy was counting on.

The fox took in a breath his body didn't need, focusing. His mind didn't need any help picking out the memory.

_Seeing Mikey in the entrance sent a wave of relief through Foxy. He hoped his shoulders drooping with relieved tension wasn’t too visible. The last time he had seen the boy was when he left Mikey in the Cove to see what had been holding up the others, and that had been months ago._

_He saw Mikey’s mother walk away, her long hair flat against her back as she turned and slipped from the building. Foxy couldn’t help but scowl. He hadn’t liked the woman the moment he had met her, and years of her leaving Mikey, even forgetting about him, hadn’t done her any favors in Foxy’s court._

_The anger was dampened and put in the back of his mind as Mikey weaved through the legs of people to get to him. He could see the grin on the child’s face, the bright blue eyes twinkling with excitement. It made Foxy’s wires quiver with anticipation_

_**“Nerd,”** Zoey whispered playfully into his ear. She was hanging from his shoulder like he usually was, her body transparent. It always tired the Children out when they tried to bring back their colors and solidity, features like scars and birthmarks being the only things that remained no matter what, so they were a clear and dusty grey most of the time, their eyes black voids with little white dots. It didn't scare the animatronics._

_Foxy couldn’t stop the quiet snort. “Ye missed him too,” he muttered._

_**“Did not,”** she said, though her argument was weak. Foxy knew she had been worried sick about Mikey, and incredibly lonely. The other Children were always around, but Mikey was someone that no one could replace._

_Mikey nearly tripped over his sneaker, but he managed to stay on his feet. “Foxy!” he chirped. He thrusted out his arms. “I missed you!”_

_Foxy swept him against his chest instantly, curling protectively around him. He hadn’t forgotten how small Mikey was, but he suddenly much more aware of it now. “I missed ye too,” he said. He tried to keep the rasp from his voice._

_“I was so scared,” Mikey whispered. “Everyone said Layla and the others went missing when the power went out. Are they really missing?”_

_Foxy fought from stiffening. Zoey bit her lip. They knew it was something that Mikey would bring up, but so soon… Foxy cleared his throat despite not needing to. “They are,” he answered._

_Tears prickled the blue eyes. “I hope they’re okay.”_

_How could Foxy ever tell him the truth? It would have to come out someday, but today after so many months a part was not the day. “I’m sure they are,” he said, lying through his fangs._

_**“I wish we were okay,”** Zoey muttered somberly._

_Mikey pulled his head back to look up. “Are you okay? You never came back.”_

_Foxy was far from okay. They had witnessed a horrific slaughter and were being forced to carry the corpses of children, who balanced between uncontrollable sobbing and screeching rage with any form of tranquility buried in between. None of them were okay. He wasn’t okay, but he had to be strong. He had to be strong for Zoey. He had to be strong for Mikey._

_For Mikey._

_“I’m just fine,” Foxy said, forcing cheer into his voice. He smiled down at the boy. “Nothin’ this old captain couldn’ handle.”_

_Mikey grinned and hugged him tighter. Foxy could see the underlying fear in those eyes, fear for Foxy and the Children’s safety, and he brought up a hand to ruffle the black locks of hair._

The happiness had gone away quickly, and that was what would make the emotional crash even harder.

_They talked. More specifically, Mikey talked and Foxy listened. Zoey also listened, silent on the pirate’s shoulder. The boy told him what he had been hearing about the disappearances, how he wasn’t allowed to talk to the Children’s parents, and how lonely it was. He whispered some things about scary home was getting after the pizzeria had closed, how he spent most of his time in the shed to avoid the yelling and hitting._

_It always broke Foxy’s heart when Mikey confessed something about home. It was rare when the boy let things slip, but for Mikey to be willingly telling him how terrified he was of his parents and how hard they would hit him meant that things were getting bad. Foxy would rub his shoulder comfortingly, encouraging Mikey to keep talking.  
He just wished he could do something to help the boy._

_“…I’m scared,” Mikey murmured, eyes wet. “I’m all alone, Foxy.”_

_“That’s not true,” Foxy said, his voice calm and low. “Ye’ve got us. Even if we can’ be there with ye, we’ll always be right here waitin’ fer ye. It’ll get scary, but just remember that we’ll always be there fer ye.”_

_Mikey looked so desperate. “Promise you’ll always be here?” he asked. It was a plea._

_The look was heartbreaking, and a reminder of just how badly Mikey needed protection. “I promise,” he said, firm. “I’ll always be here fer ye.”_

_There was a small cheer from the stage. Foxy glanced up. The small amount of kids had crowded to the stage to watch Freddy and the others perform. It never really bothered him before, being the one that kids saw more as an afterthought, because he had Mikey and Zoey. For the kids to be flocking towards the main trio didn’t hurt, because Mikey was here, and, while in the worse circumstances, so was Zoey._

_There was a sudden heat on the back of his neck. It was only in a small spot, but it started to hurt fast. It felt like someone was trying to weld a quarter to the back of his neck. Foxy hissed and reached back to rub at it._

_**Vers—n 0.0.— A—t—n Ro—t—cs Ima—e S—ift—r: On.** _

_Foxy froze. Zoey looked at him curiously, as did Mikey. The fox looked around for the mysterious voice. It sounded like someone was talking through those walkie-talkies the security guards had, but with more static._

_“Mikey,” he said, still looking, “did ye hear someone say somethin’?”_

_Mike gave him a small frown. “No,” he answered. There was a note of caution in his voice that made Foxy guilty._

_**“What’s with you?”** Zoey asked._

_Foxy shook his head, withdrawing his hand. “Never mind.” He put on an optimistic smile. “Thought I heard somethin’.”_

_Each of them had an emergency shutdown button on the back of their necks. It was small, hard to access, and needed a thin needle to be pushed in to activate it. Patterson had been quick about it when he had shut them down one by one, though he had to use brute force with a crowbar when it came to Foxy. He hadn’t been feeling too well since then, always a little queasy. Bonnie suggested that the button could be jammed, but Foxy wasn’t too sure._

_**Nu—er of —ildren in room: Unknown.** _

_Foxy couldn’t help but startle at the voice again. Alright, so he hadn’t been hearing things. It was stronger this time, but still filled with static. The burning on the back of his neck became worse. He reached back and rubbed at his neck, looking for the spot, but his hand was running over nothing._

_“Foxy, are you okay?” Mikey asked. He was standing there, confused and even looking a little scared._

_“Just an itch,” the fox responded with a small grunt._

_**Disabling ———.** _

_Suddenly everything went dark. Foxy wasn’t there anymore. He couldn’t move, see, or speak._

_Something was wrong. Something was very wrong._

_Zoey curled over his shoulder, frowning. **“Foxy, what’s wrong?”**_

_He couldn’t move. Why couldn’t he move? He felt like he was paralyzed._

_Mikey was frowning, confused. He reached up, his little hand so small. “Foxy?”_

_**Extracting child.** _

_It was a small jerk forward, too pathetic to be called a lunge. His jaw, gaping, suddenly tightened and snapped shut. Mikey, poor little Mikey, could only let out a small sound before his head was caught. His skin broke under the sharp fangs, his tiny skull cracking under the pressure. Mikey had become stiff, trembling like a little feather, before going limp, his body dangling from the monstrous jaws. The bright eyes rolled back, empty._

_That was the visual that Zoey had given him. The visual that had Foxy had pulled out of her while Chica tried to calm him down, the fox screaming and wailing at the very thought of the sight._

_There was screaming. Zoey was screaming right into his ear. It echoed throughout his head. He felt empty, floating. He felt his jaw unlock, something hitting the ground with a wet thud. He couldn't think at all, couldn't try._

_**Child extraction failed.** _

__Foxy ripped himself from it with a strangled gasp. His cheeks were heavy with the black goo, cold droplets on his thighs. He managed to look at his hand to see that he had formed a ball, an unstable and dripping ball.

He crushed it in his hand, willing it to form into a sharper object. This needed to _hurt_ , and Foxy was going to make it hurt as much as it needed to be.

_He was screaming, thrashing. It was dark in the Cove, the restaurant silent save for his cries and the sobbing coming from the stage. Freddy was holding him like a vice, trying to calm him down. Foxy couldn’t calm down, how could he? He had murdered Mikey, the boy that he had vowed to protect just minutes before he killed him. He was a monster, an absolute monster—!_

_“You didn’t mean it!” Freddy was yelling. He sounded so far away. “It was an accident!”_

_Foxy knew he was tearing holes in the chocolate fur, but he just couldn’t stop clawing at Freddy. “I killed him!” he wailed. “I killed Mikey!”_

_“It wasn’t your fault!” Freddy exclaimed, desperation tainting his voice. “Foxy, it wasn’t your fault, I know it wasn’t! Just calm down—!”_

_“I killed him!”_

Foxy bit back the loudest of his sobs, opening his hand. The ball had become a thin line, widened to two sides at the end. A little knife, just like the one that was twisting and tearing through the pirate’s entire body.

It was done.

 _He_ was done.

Foxy held it tightly despite the screaming need to throw it as far away as possible. He needed every bit of horror and guilt that he had, and with a record like his, there was no end to how much he could make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder what company's responsible for that burning sensation :)
> 
> This was hard to write because I changed it from a dream sequence to a flashback, then the Bite. I've been going back and forth on how it happened for a while, and I actually settled on this being what happened very recently.


	27. Golden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After nearly a full week of relative peace, a familiar voice comes with answers and a warning to Mike of the night to come. Mike, who's far too curious and stubborn for his own good, ignores it. He needs more answers. It's too late when he realizes that he should have stayed home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Curse my broken scroll-wheel, the now biggest thorn in my left cheek -_-
> 
> Anyways, who's ready for some fun? :)

_It was so dark he couldn’t see a thing. He wasn’t sure how many times he had lifted his hand in an attempt to see it. He was trying to get through something thick and sludgy, the substance soaking him up to his waist. It was terrifying, the fear of the darkness and the fear of being pulled under to drown being the only thing driving him to find something to crawl onto._

_“Hello?” Mike called, his voice a raspy croak. He didn’t recall screaming, but he wasn’t sure in this place. “Hello?”_

_There was a sudden chill on his shoulder. Mike whipped his head around and let out a startled gasp. There was a man there, smiling warmly. Parts of him were gone – transparent – but there were splotches of colors in most places. His eyes were shaded with ash, his hair a dark hickory that framed his peachy cheeks. The style reminded Mike of a bunny, the ear-like sides tucked over the ears with a full rise stretching back on his head._

_He was wearing a uniform that looked identical to Mike’s._

_“It’s alright, champ. I’m here to help,” the man said. His voice was a bit nasally, but it was cheerful and kind._

_And very familiar._

_“Who are you?” Mike asked, turning around. He noticed the man was a little rounded. “Where am I?”_

_The man chuckled. “You already know me, champ.”_

_It hit him. “You’re… You’re…” His heart suddenly soared. “You’re the phone guy!”_

_The peachy cheeks curved with his smile. He had dimples. “I actually kind of like that name: Phone Guy. Makes me feel official.” He held out his hand. “Name’s Scotty. Nice to meet you, Mike.”_

_The teen took his hand carefully, noticing parts of the skin were… See through? Invisible? Mike had no idea. When their hands clasped together, Mike could feel warmth from the parts that were colored, but cool air from the empty spots. He could feel his hand quiver a little at the shake._

_“Sorry about that,” Scotty said. Mike raised a brow. “The, uh, holes. It wears me out pretty quick when I try and solidify myself. I didn’t want to scare you, so I went with what I could.”_

_“Oh,” Mike said, though he wasn’t sure as to what he was responding to._

_They pulled away. Scotty put his hands on his hips and looked around. Apparently he could see something. “It’s pretty, uh, dark in here, huh?” He looked back at Mike. “And you don’t like the dark.”_

_The teen shook his head slowly. He had no idea how Scotty knew about that. Then again, he had no idea what was even happening. Was he really dreaming about a dead guy?_

_Scotty lifted a soft hand. “I-I’ve got it covered,” he said. A small ball appeared above his palm, glowing a soft white. It didn’t illuminate much, but it was light and that’s what counted. “There, that’s a little better.”_

_Mike scooted a little closer to it, gaping. “What…?”_

_“I-i-it’s just a little trick,” the man said, answering the vague wording. “That’s about as big as I can make it.”_

_“Thank you,” Mike murmured. He looked around to where it shone. It was just the black, syrupy water, and nothing else._

_“Now, uh, I’m you’re confused,” Scotty guessed. “I-I mean, this is just a dream, right? That’s probably what you’re thinking.”_

_“And you’re going to say it’s not?” Mike ventured on saying._

_The ashy eyes brightened. “You got it!”_

_The teen recoiled slightly. “Huh?”_

_“See, champ, this isn’t really a dream. I mean, it sort of is, but not in your head.” He gestured to the empty blackness. “You see, we’re actually in your soul. Or on it, I should say. I wouldn’t try to go in it, but I, uh, don’t think we actually can.”_

_Mike just stared at him blankly. “What?”_

_Scotty smiled sheepishly. “Y-yeah, I probably wouldn’t catch that either.”_

_“I…guess I understand, but…” Soul? Really? It sounded so weird, but at the same time it was strangely right to hear the word. “Then how are you here?” he asked._

_“Well, uh…” Scotty scratched the back of his neck. It seemed like a habit. “I wouldn’t say I’m _possessing you_ , but I’m in your head, so…”_

_“You’re what?!” Mike exclaimed._

_The water shook slightly. The man winced. “Champ, I don’t want to keep you under for too long because the nausea will get worse, so just listen to me: You can’t go into work tonight.”_

_“What do you mean?” Mike squealed. “You’re-! You’re possessing me just to tell me not to go into work?! This isn’t making any sense!”_

_“Foxy’s going to kill you if you come in!” Scotty exclaimed. He sighed, guilty at Mike’s struck expression. “I’m sorry to be blunt, but he’s got something planned.”_

_Mike didn’t catch the slight rise of the water. “How do you know?” he asked quietly. “What is he going to do?”_

_“I’ll be honest, I’m, uh, not entirely sure,” Scotty admitted. The awkwardness was replaced with seriousness. “But-but you’ve noticed that he hasn’t been out of the Cove all week, right?”_

_That was very true. Foxy hadn’t shown his face all week, not even peeking from the Cove. Mike had caught a glimpse of Bonnie on 1C on Monday peering into the Cove. He had heard hissed mumblings down the hall, and after that Bonnie hadn’t appeared on that camera. In fact, Bonnie barely went down the west hall at all. Mike assumed that some fight must have happened, because why else would Bonnie suddenly avoid the hallway like the plague?_

_Then again, all of the animatronics seemed to be walking on eggshells._

_“I can’t get around without the risk of any of them spotting me,” Scotty said. “Trust me, I’d go in there in a heartbeat if it meant finding out what Foxy’s up to, but if they spot me…” He trailed off, his cheeks losing some color. “T-they, uh, would… They would…”_

_“But…” Mike paled at the delayed realization. “You’re a ghost.”_

_The change in subject was welcomed, even if it wasn’t intended. “Yeah,” the man said. “I-I’ve been sticking around. Hiding in the shadows, you know? It’s hard to get around without being spotted.”_

_“But how can they see you? How can they hurt you?”_

_“You’ve seen their eyes do that trick, right?”_

_Mike shivered at the memories. “Yeah?”_

_“That. Because they have those abilities, they can see me and hurt me.” Scotty looked conflicted. “I shouldn’t be dumping this all on you now, but with how aggressive the animatronics are getting…”_

_“I do that, too.” Mike’s eyes widened. He stared at Scotty intensely. “Is it the same thing? Is it?”_

_The spirit sighed, like he knew he couldn’t avoid the truth. “It’s the same,” he answered._

_“How is it the same?” he asked. “How does it work?”_

_“I’m not entirely sure about how it works, but…” Discomfort pinched Scotty’s face. “They got their abilities after the Children died.”_

_Mike felt cold. Something didn’t feel right. “How?”_

_“Why don’t we take it back a notch-?”_

_“How?” Mike repeated, a demand entering his tone._

_“…Spirits need something to tie them down after their body can’t work anymore, like an anchor,” Scotty said quietly. “Usually they find one on their own, but the Children… T-their bodies were already…there.”_

_Mike’s legs felt weak. Everything felt too small and too cold. He felt like he was going to vomit, but there was no bile in his throat. The twisting of his stomach only became worse when he felt the freezing black begin to rise._

_Scotty gently grabbed ahold of his shoulders. “Calm down there, champ. It’ll get worse the more you panic.”_

_“What gets worse?!” Mike cried. His head was still spinning from the revelation that his friends had been fucking_ stuffed. _“What even is this?!”_

_“Your soul’s got some bad damage to it. It’s bleeding,” Scotty said. “It’s why you’re having trouble controlling it. Everything’s out of whack, and it’s going to get worse the longer it’s left like this.”_

_“What do you mean it’s bleeding?!” the teen exclaimed. “How is that even possible?!”_

_“The Bite, Mike!” Scotty yelled, rushed for time. Mike froze. “Foxy tore your soul when he bit you! That’s why you barely have any control over your powers; your soul never healed from the Bite and it’s been deteriorating ever since!”_

_So Foxy was the reason why he was like this? Was there anything that the Bite hadn’t done to him? “But…” Mike swallowed, his throat dry. “What does that mean?” Did that mean he was going to die? He wasn’t sure how he felt about that anymore._

_It was Scotty’s turn to look upset again. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted. “Look, we’re going to find a way to fix it. You just need to calm down.”_

_“You just told me that my friends were stuffed,” the teen rasped, teary-eyed. He didn't even question the man's use of 'we'. “Were they still alive? How long did they stay after they died? Where are they?”_

_The ashy eyes were sad. “They’re gone now,” he answered. “I’m sorry, Mike.”_

_A violent shudder overtook Mike’s body. He looked down to see the water up to his chest. It was rising so fast. It felt like it was crushing him. He shrieked._

_“Mike!” Scotty yelled. “Mike, it’s okay!”_

_“Help!” Mike shrieked. The inky water was up to his neck now, strangling him. “Help!”_

_Scotty hands were tight on his wrists. “Just take a breather. Deep breaths, Mike, deep breaths.”_

_It wouldn’t stop rising. “I’m going to drown!” the boy wailed. He lifted his head as high as he could. “I’m going to drown, I’m drowning!”_

_Scotty looked conflicted. He took in a quick, quiet breath and sighed. “Mike, remember what I said about the animatronics.”_

_Mike could hear the goodbye in his voice despite his ears being submerged. “You’re leaving?” he choked. The ink just kept rising. Scotty was leaving him to drown._

_“Don’t go in tonight. Just wait until Goldie and I can figure something out.”_

_Mike would have asked who Goldie was, but the water had risen over his mouth. He let out a panicked choke when it went over his nose, robbing him of the oxygen that would steadily run out._

_The ashen eyes were sad, but comforting. His hands tightened just so. “Just trust me, champ.”_

_Everything was burning. Mike flailed, Scotty’s hands suddenly gone. He couldn’t see, couldn’t tell what was up and what was down. The water was freezing him from the inside out. He was going to die, he was going to die–!_

“Mike?”

His eyes shot open, a sharp gasp ripped from him. His body was drenched in sweat, his heart pounding against his ribcage. Mike jerked his head back despite the terror and instinct telling him not to.

Logan was leaning over the bed, a hand on his shoulder. He was frowning, alarmed. “You okay, sport?”

Mike stared for a minute, then nodded. He swallowed dryly, panting.

“Bad nightmare, huh?” Logan asked. Mike just nodded again. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No!” Mike blurted. His voice was a dry rasp. He coughed. “No,” he repeated, quieter.

“Got it,” the blond said. He gave a small smile. “Breakfast’s ready. Come down when you’re ready.”

Mike could smell it from the spare room. It made his mouth water. “Okay,” he said.

Logan gave him a small pat, then turned and left. Mike got out from under what covers still blanketed him.

It was Friday morning. He had gotten back from his shift hours ago, and from the looks of the sun filtering through the curtains, it was early noon. That meant Petunia would have already left for work and the girls were at school. From the lack of Rosie and Caitlyn’s sibling banter, that was a yes.

Staying the week at Logan’s had been peaceful. After crying his heart out to Petunia, she had lifted him into bed and tucked him in. Since then, Mike had been using the guestroom. Sometimes Chris stayed the night on the couch, but if the janitor did go home, he would always be back. True to Chris’s word, he didn’t leave Mike. The added additions of Logan and Petunia’s promises had Mike feeling much better.

Mike rubbed his face, the bandages chafing against his cheeks harshly. They were being changed night now before he went to work. The dull throbbing in his arm reminded him of the painkillers he was about to get. He wasn’t a fan of them, they made him feel dizzy, but at least he got to stay and snuggle with Buddy on the couch while he recovered. His shirt and pants had long sleeves, something Mike was immensely thankful for.

The giant cartoon horse on the shirt was another matter.

It felt so normal to walk down the stairs. He had nearly tripped over his own feet the first time down them after waking up, momentarily forgetting where he was and that Sir wasn’t in the kitchen. It was embarrassing, remembering the five minutes he spent hiding behind the wall before Chris came up and coaxed him from his spot. It wasn’t too scary anymore, but Mike still stopped and listened for Sir’s ragged breathing.

Chris looked at him from the table. “Hey, kid,” he greeted. He looked at Mike’s shirt and smirked. “Nice outfit.”

Mike stuck out his tongue. He hopped down the last stairs and made his way over. Despite the jab, he sat down next to Chris. A plate had already been set for him, a pancake with a haphazardly drawn chocolate face next to some eggs and bacon. A glass of orange juice was next to the plate.

Logan was coming from the kitchen with a mug of coffee in hand. “It’s funny,” he said, coming to Mike’s aid. “I wish it wasn’t a pajama outfit. You’d look so cute wearing it in public.”

Living in Logan’s house for the week also had Mike subjected to some kiddy talk. Having two daughters did that to a man. The teen flushed. “No way,” he muttered. He grabbed a fork and started picking at his eggs.

Chris chuckled. “Yeah, it’d look better in super hot pink.” At Mike’s weak glare, he gave the teen a nudge. “Eat your breakfast, kid.”

It felt nice to eat breakfast with people, even if was just Logan and Chris. The ice, which had been much thicker than anyone else had thought, had been broken after Saturday, and Mike was much more comfortable when it came to being around everyone. He would still periodically look down at his arms, especially if the kids were home, but everyone just seemed to be fine with them. Aside from the times his bandages would be unraveled, no one really asked about them. It wasn't avoiding anything, Mike knew, it was because of how uncomfortable he still was with talking about it.

The normality was nice. Really nice. As normal as he could be without his powers, that was. The amount of cups he had moved across the table without touching them was pretty high.

His…issue had been spoken about, of course. Logan was already finding a therapist for him to speak with; with the assurance that it would be kept a secret from Sir. The company was already on edge with him, so they were more than happy to do whatever was needed with no questions asked. It stung whenever Mike noticed that anything sharp was put away, but he understood. Everyone was just worried about him, and everyone knew that hugs and board games wouldn’t clear up years of damaging behaviors.

That was also nice; the fact that no one expected him to be “fixed” within a few days.

"Oh! Nearly forgot." Logan took the small bottle of painkillers from his pocket and handed them to Mike. "I was wondering where I put them. How’s your arm feeling?”

Mike brushed over it absently. “Better,” he answered. It did. It was sore and it would ache, but it was much better.

“You’ll be able to get those stitches out soon,” Chris said.

That was fantastic, because Mike felt his skin crawl whenever he grazed them. “Great,” he said. “They’re weird.”

“I can imagine. The last time I had stitches was when I fell out of a tree and cut up my leg really bad.” Logan chuckled, reminiscing. “It looks like a lightning bolt. My friends used to call me Flash.”

“That’s because your friends were nerds,” Chris snorted. He didn’t spare Logan a glance from his food.

“And we were popular nerds,” the blond retorted smoothly, smirking. “Everybody _loved_ the Flash.”

“Stop, I’m going to barf at your nerdy teenage years.”

Hearing Chris say barf was enough to get Mike snickering.

“Ah, I see how it is,” Logan muttered, chocolate eyes narrowing. “Well, now I hope that your scar doesn’t look cool.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “It so will, you know that. You got cut with a branch, Mike got away from a demonic fucking robot. I think he wins.”

Despite the rescue, Chris’s words about Foxy had Mike feeling cold again. As much as he tried to tell himself that it had just been some bizarre dream, he had a bad feeling that it was completely real. If that was the case, then the former night guard was still here and not wherever ghosts went whenever they died, and everything he had said was true. As true as his knowledge went.

And it reminded Mike of what Scotty said. Soul? Damaged? The Bite being the reason?

_My friends being stuffed into the animatronics?_

A small nudge had Mike squeaking from his daze. He looked over to see Chris looking at him with a raised brow. “Where’d you go, kid?”

Logan noticed the light distress on the pale face. “Is something wrong, sport?”

Mike knew it would ruin breakfast, but… “Was the former night guard’s name Scotty?” he asked.

The two men stiffened, wide-eyed. Logan cleared his throat after a moment, obviously nervous. “Who told you that, Mike?” he asked slowly.

The teen felt like he was being smothered under their eyes. “Was it?” he managed to go on.

Logan took in a deep breath through his nose. “Yeah,” he said. “His name was Scotty.”

“Mike, who told you that?” Chris asked again. There was a demand in his voice.

Mike absently scratched at his right hand. “Please believe me when I say I’m not lying.”

“Why do you say that?” Chris’s voice was low.

“Because I dreamed about him last night.”

They both looked at Mike again, now confused and even a little concerned.

“He has dark brown hair and grey eyes,” Mike said, a little louder than needed. “He kind of looked like a… Like a peach?”

Logan had gone pale. “That sounds like Scotty,” he said quietly. He took a long drink from his mug.

“Kid, tell me right now if you saw a picture of him,” Chris told Mike firmly.

“I didn’t!” the raven-head protested. “I swear. He said right to my face that he possessing me. Sort of!” he added quickly at Chris’s dumbfounded look. “He told me about my powers and stuff!”

The janitor took in a breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, say I believe you about Scotty being a _motherfucking_ ghost.” Mike flinched. “What did Scotty supposedly say?”

Mike swallowed. “He said that the Bite’s the reason why it’s so hard for me to control my powers,” he said. “He said that the Bite tore my…soul, and it never healed.”

Logan wasn’t getting any color in his cheeks back. “How bad is it?”

Chris looked at Logan in disbelief. “Are you seriously believing this?”

“Well, we don’t have much else to go on!” the blond snapped. The other man slightly recoiled at the sudden change. “I don’t see why Mike would lie about something like this.”

The janitor sighed. “Yeah, me neither but…” He gave the kid a skeptical, but apologetic, look. “Mike…”

“I swear I’m not lying,” Mike said, stung by Chris’s attitude. He wouldn’t lie, even he was skeptical of what happened, but what other choice did he have but to believe it?

A beat passed. Then, “What else did he say?” Logan asked.

“He said…” Mike’s face scrunched up as he tried to recall everything. “He said he and someone else would try and fix it. Someone named Goldie.”

“I don’t know anyone named Goldie.” The chocolate eyes went to Chris. “Chris?”

“Same here,” he answered. He shook his head, like he couldn't believe he was actually agreeing with what was happening. “But how is he going to fix it? How bad of damage are we talking?”

Mike shifted. “Whatever the Bite caused never healed, and then there’s everything else…” He felt a tightness in his throat. “He said it’s getting worse.”

Chris stared at him, hazel eyes almost blank. “What does that mean?”

Scotty hadn’t actually _said_ he was going to die, but he didn’t know what was going to happen either. Tears jumped to Mike’s eyes at the thought, the possibility, that he could be actually dying. “He said he didn’t know.” He sniffled harshly. “He just said he was going to fix it.”

“Does that mean–?”

“Chris,” Logan interjected, cutting him off. He knew what the younger was about to ask. The tearful blue eyes were enough to know what Mike was thinking. “Mike, I don’t think we should be jumping to conclusions yet.”

“But what else is there?” Mike whimpered, crying now. “What happens when it finally gives out? What happens to me? What happens?”

Logan stood and rounded the table. “We don’t know,” he admitted. He dropped into a crouch, hands on Mike’s shoulders. “But we _are not_ jumping to the conclusion that you’re dying.”

“And even if you were. _If_ ,” Chris reiterated the emphasis on ‘if’ when Logan gave him a look that could kill. “Then why would it be now? You’ve lived for nine years with an open wound on your soul.” The word was so weird to say. “I think you’ve got a while before that becomes an option.”

Mike swallowed. It felt like a pebble was in his throat. “I don’t really want to die anymore,” he whispered. _Not now._

Logan’s eyes became shiny. He brought Mike into a hug, holding the teen tightly. Mike clung to him just as tight, burrowing his face into the crook of the man’s neck. The smell of printer ink and paper was incredibly grounding. The smell of Chris’s pine shampoo laced everything like an earthy bow, tying everything together like Mike needed.

Chris just settled a hand on the kid’s back. What else could he do after hearing that without crowding Mike?

They were like that for a few minutes, Logan and Mike holding each other and Chris keeping a steady hand on the small back. Buddy came through the dog door at some point, trotting over and shoving his muzzle as best he could between Mike and Logan.

The blond couldn’t help the groan. “Really?”

Buddy just gave Mike a lick. The puppy kiss was enough to make him smile a little.

“Dogs are the only things allowed to break the mood,” Chris said, smiling faintly. Unfortunately, Buddy couldn’t diminish what the hell had just been said.

“I ruined breakfast,” Mike mumbled into Logan’s shirt.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” the blond said. “This was just a very emotional and fruitful breakfast.”

“That’s an understatement,” Chris murmured.

Mike turned his head back, sniffing. “Chris?”

“Just trying to process what the hell just came out of your mouth.” The man rubbed his face. “So Scotty’s a ghost, which means they actually exist, we have souls, and your soul is damaged from being bitten by a fucking robot nine years ago? Is that what I just heard?”

The teen went back to hiding in Logan’s shoulder. “Yeah.”

“Never anything dull with you.” Chris sighed. There wasn’t anything else to do but just deal with it. “Did Scotty say anything else?”

The warning not to go into work. The warning that Foxy was planning something and would most likely kill him. There was no reason why Mike wouldn’t tell them about it. Logan would absolutely let him stay and Chris would back it.

“Just to be careful.”

But he needed answers.

\- - - - -

Foxy hadn’t shown his face all night, just like every other night. It shouldn’t have been too worrying, it had just turned to 1, but Mike couldn’t help but grip the tablet tighter. All of them had been acting weird. He didn’t blame them, not after disappearing into thin air, but still.

Freddy made his rounds in very deliberate intervals. Mike caught a pair of icy eyes staring at him through the window from time to time before Freddy left. Chica would do the same, but she tended to leave much more quickly. Foxy was the only one Mike hadn’t seen, the fox hiding away in the Cove.

But Bonnie would just…stare. He wasn’t even trying to go for Mike anymore. He even made it super obvious when he was coming, his feet now hitting the floor a little louder than normal. It gave Mike a million years to prepare and get to the door, but it scared the daylights out of him when he saw the twin crimsons locked onto him in the dark. He would just stare, expressionless, and leave.

It was really freaking Mike out, and it was now really making him regret not listening to Scotty.

There had to be something here that could fix whatever damage the Bite had left. Maybe the animatronics had the answer. Mike had no idea how to even begin bringing that up or what to do if they – for some reason – answered him, even though they had no reason to help him, but they had to know _something_.

And Mike wanted to know just what the hell had happened that horrible day his friends had gone missing.

The papers hadn’t said anything about the Children being stuffed into suits. There had been reports of blood on the animatronics _bloodgoremucustheywerestuckinside_ , but nothing fruitful had ever come from the searches _theybribedthepolice_. It was all passed off as someone misinterpreting pizza sauce and some people needing a mental evaluation. The bodies had been found wrapped in tarps, mutilated beyond belief and rotten, on the police station steps. It had taken dental records to identify them.

Mike was never told. He never got to go to their funerals. He never got to say goodbye.

Did the animatronics get to say goodbye?

It was slow for Friday night, and it was absolutely terrifying. Freddy had popped by once, Chica hadn’t been down the hallway at all, Bonnie was somewhere that wasn’t outside the door, and a quick check on Foxy told Mike that he was still hiding. 

Where was Scotty? Mike gave the room another glance. He didn’t feel a gaze on him, hadn’t from anyone else for the night so far, but the former guard _had_ to be here. There wasn’t really anywhere else to go, and from Scotty said about anchors, Mike had a feeling the anchor was here. It was like having a guardian angel. Just…one that possessed people.

Mike heard the thumping too late. He didn’t have enough time to check Pirate Cove anyway, because he knew from the rattling that Foxy had skipped all of his stages and was coming down the hall. The teen turned just in time to see that the pirate was already in the doorway.

Foxy’s eyes could have blended into the dark if it weren’t for the white dots. “Got ye, ye little bastard!” he snarled.

Mike stumbled back, terrified. Maybe he could throw the tablet at Foxy and–?

“Ye’re not goin’ anywhere,” Foxy hissed. He lifted his hand, clenched it, and raised his arm to throw.

Bonnie, from nowhere, grabbed Foxy’s arm. “Foxy, no!”

Foxy let out a startled yelp. His aim was thrown off, the little knife flying and only grazing the guard’s cheek. The guard cried out at the dart cutting into his cheek. It couldn’t have been that bad, just a deep papercut, but the emotions that would inevitably take over his system would be.

Foxy practically threw Bonnie off of him. “What the hell do ye think ye’re doin’?!” he screeched.

“Stopping you from making another big mistake!” Bonnie yelled.

The yellow eyes took on a dangerous gleam. “If ye’re goin’ ta keep goin’ on about Mikey…”

There was a sharp ringing in Mike’s head, drowning out the yelling and the blood pounding in his ears. Mike knew he should run, but he couldn’t. He was too busy grabbing at his face where he had been cut. A bitter, black frost was on his cheek, steadily spreading. His fingers went through it each time he tried to grab it, feeling just as cold as the substance in his dream. It was like a spider undulating its legs.

The two animatronics were yelling at each other. Bonnie was cowering slightly, but he was standing his ground. Foxy was towering over him, snarling and snapping. Mike had enough emotion other than fear and guilt to feel sad for them.

“…no idea what I’m goin’ through!” Foxy was roaring.

“Of course I do! That’s why I’m trying to stop you!” Bonnie was snapping back.

_It hurts, it hurts, it hurts so bad!_

“…ta kill him! That’s on my conscience!”

“It isn’t because he’s right there! He didn’t die!”

“I bit his fuckin’ head off!”

Mike shuddered violently. It just kept spreading. He was letting out quiet, panicked rasps as the ink slithered into any opening around his face. His cheek felt like it was freezing, his ear canal becoming a glacial cavern as the ink slithered into it. Some managed to get into his mouth. It made his teeth hurt and his tongue ache.

“…was _my_ child!”

“Mikey was my child, too!”

“Ye didn’ care fer him like I did!”

“You liar! I loved Mikey like I loved you the moment you came out of the shipping crate!”

Freddy was jogging down the hallway. “What are you two doing?!” he exclaimed.

Foxy’s eyes were dripping with black, his fangs bared. “Get Bonnie the _fuck_ out of my face before I knock his head off!”

Bonnie snarled at him before turning back to Freddy. “It’s Mikey!” he yelled. “I know it is! We’ve been trying to kill Mikey!”

Freddy fought from snapping at him. “That’s enough from both of you! Both of you go back to your places. You’re both staying in your spots until tomorrow.”

“But Mikey–!”

“His death was hard on all of us, Bonnie!” Freddy cut him off. “You need to stop with this outrageous claim and accept that.”

“I know a way ta shut him up,” Foxy growled.

The icy eyes flicked to him in an instant. “You will not lay a single finger on your brother.”

Bonnie gave a cynical laugh. “Let him do it. I dare him.”

“Bonnie!”

Mike let out a sharp whine. “Help,” the boy rasped. His voice was nothing more than a ragged whisper. “Help me.”

Bonnie glanced over, then whipped his entire head towards Mike. He froze like a rabbit in the middle of the street. Mike could only register the three sets of eyes widening before he grabbed in a strong hold. A giant hand came over his mouth, an arm firmly across his waist. His screams were muffled, his legs kicking furiously in a vain attempt to escape.

Freddy grabbed Foxy and Bonnie by the scruff of their fur and yanked them back. “Get back!”

The hand was furry and a dirty yellow, like a butterscotch candy that had been dropped in a pile of dust. The fur was coarse with filth and scratched against his skin roughly. Mike caught a glimpse of black eyes, white dots, and a black top hat when he looked up, but everything started going dark.

 _“It’s okay, tater tot,”_ It, _he_ said. _“I’ll help you.”_

The fact that the thing was talking only made the panic worse despite a strange warmth crawling through his chest. There were jagged lines seeping into his vision, the edges swiftly going black. His vision started to tunnel.

_“Listen to him, champ. I promise everything’s going to be okay.”_

Mike looked around wildly. He was alone with this thing and Scotty’s voice. The animatronics had left him, abandoned him to whatever fate was in store for him. He thought he would be torn in two by the terror and sorrow; if the creature hadn’t killed him first.

 _“I’m not going to hurt you,”_ the monster said, like he had read Mike’s thoughts. His voice was craggily, like he had swallowed stones, but it was…soothing.

_“I’ll get you out of this, you just have to relax.”_

_Scotty, I'm sorry I didn't listen. I just wanted-!_

_“I know, champ. You deserve more answers, but we can't give them to you now. Just trust me, okay?”_ Scotty’s voice begged, desperation lining his voice. _“Trust us.”_

The warmth seeped into his muscles and bones. It felt so nice. The throbbing from where the dart had cut him faded with the panic. His body felt heavy with sleep, and his eyelids finally closed off what was left of his sight. It was so hard to stay awake, to stay afraid.

 _“There we go,”_ Scotty murmured. _“We’ve got you, champ, we’ve got you. Just let go.”_

It was easier than Mike thought it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mike, why didn't you just listen to Scotty? ;-;
> 
> So, we actually weren't supposed to meet Scotty yet, but I decided to change it last minute. Golden Freddy we were supposed to meet, but I changed his introduction (hence the last chapter). I like it way better than what I had planned for him, so I guess it's a good thing I remodeled everything.
> 
> Remember, you can ask me questions about the AU in the comments or on tumblr. I'm always open and happy to answer. Also it's where you can get small updates on the fix in case anything's late. For now, more to come.


	28. Stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the clock ticks to six, Scotty and Goldie do their best to protect Mike. They can protect him from the animatronics, but not from the damage slowly infecting the kid's soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look what came out early!
> 
> So... This chapter was actually thrown in last minute. There was supposed to be a short sequence at the beginning of what's now the next chapter, but I wasn't liking it. Plus I wanted to show off my butterscotch candy bear and peachy man more.

“Up, then down, then right, then left…!”

“Goldie, stop that!”

The bear froze, his arms raised in the air to the left. Mike’s were in the same position. He gave a quirky smile. “Sorry, Scotty.”

Goldie was sitting on the floor, the little tater tot sitting between his legs. Scotty was standing by the desk, sneaking a peek outside of either door occasionally. The spirit was mostly transparent now, speckles of color here and there. Of course, no one normal would see him even if he was colored in; becoming solid was a chore.

“This is serious, Goldie,” Scotty said, frowning.

“I know it’s serious!” Goldie retorted. Embarrassment tinted his features. “It’s just… It feels so good to move again, you know?” He gave his arms a little shake, Mike mirroring his action. “I haven’t moved in… Fuck, how many years? I can’t even remember when my endo was ripped out.”

Scotty softened at that. Goldie hadn’t told him how he had ended up in the pizzeria, the bear obviously uncomfortable at the very mention of his origins, but he did say that his endoskeleton had been removed for a long time. After being confined to his own body for years, then his first taste of movement to be taken apart and worn for a heinous crime, Scotty could understand the restlessness.

“I don’t know how different it is to be alive as a human, but you can’t lie; it felt good to feel alive again, didn’t it?”

The former guard sighed. “It did.” It had been incredible to feel a heartbeat in his chest that wasn't forced for comfort, to feel the warmth of blood and flesh again. He had wanted to stay a little longer when he had attached himself to Mike, just a little longer, but he had separated for the sake of the boy's health.

Goldie felt guilt poking at his mind. “I’m not trying to throw you under the bus, Scotty,” he said warmly.

Scotty loosely crossed his arms. His foot tapped silently against the floor. “I know. I-I’m just anxious, you know? We’re in the middle of a wolf pack, you can’t blame me.”

“Wolf pack?” the butterscotch bear snorted. “They’re not coming in here. They’re terrified of me.” 

Scotty could hear the bitterness in Goldie’s voice. “They’re scared of who wore you, not you yourself. They don’t even know you.”

Goldie shrugged. “I don’t think it really matters to them.” The pinprick eyes moved to one of the doors for a quick check. “They probably think I’m Patterson possessing a knockoff suit. The first impression I– Sorry, _my suit_ ,” he corrected blandly after a sharp look from Scotty, “made on them was for a slaughter. I can’t blame them for being scared.”

Scotty couldn’t either, not when they didn’t know the truth.

“Can we talk about something else?” Goldie said after a moment. “You know, something not incredibly depressing? I thought we were trying to stay positive here, pal.”

Right, they had to stay positive. Usually Scotty didn’t have a problem with that, but with the situation at hand… “How’s Mike?” he asked.

Mike’s eyes were empty pools of black, his white pupils still. Despite his open eyes, he was fast asleep. Goldie had taken full control and had blanketed the boy inside of his head for some peace. Blood coated his mouth and uniform shirt. Nosebleeds were a common side effect from long-term possessions, becoming worse and worse as time stretched on. It had been three hours, three remaining, and it seemed like Mike’s body was finally adjusting.

Goldie gave a small grimace. “He could be better.”

Scotty did a swift check of both the hallways. None of the animatronics were in them.

“They’re in the kitchen,” the suit reminded, like he read Scotty’s mind. He may actually have, considering that they were tethered together.

Hiding from who they believed Goldie to be went unsaid.

“Hopefully they stay in there.” Scotty walked over to the two, looking down at Mike with a frown. “Should I try again or wait a little longer?”

“You could try again,” Goldie said. “I get you don’t want to irritate it, but that Tear’s fucked his whole soul up. I’d take irritating it a little more than letting it spread further.”

Summoning the soul was a slow process. Scotty was absolutely terrified of jostling it and causing any further damage. Goldie didn’t rush him. Mike didn’t twitch. Soon the sphere was floating between his palms.

Bad was an understatement, and fucked, as Goldie put it, wasn’t something Scotty wanted to associate with Mike’s soul. A nasty mess was the kindest Scotty could describe it. The small cloud of black surrounding the spherical center was barely visible, the core littered with cuts that bled a dark grey. The worst of the damage, however, stretched across the entire soul. A large gash leaked dark grey and black ooze that dripped onto the floor and Mike's lap. Grey laced the gash and was steadily spreading across the small soul.

The last Scotty had seen the Tear from the Bite, it had looked somewhat okay. Now it was incredibly worse and much bigger than before.

The spirit reached and ran his hand over the wound carefully. He could feel some speckles of negative energy come off of it, lightly spattering his palm, but nothing major.

“Goldie, I’m really worried,” Scotty told him. If he had a pulse, it would be picking up steadily. “It’s getting worse.”

“I can see that,” Goldie said, frowning. “Try getting it out again.”

The spotted hands opened as wide as they could, fingers spreading. Energy heated in his palms like machine firing up. It only took a few seconds for his hands to become hot, and then Scotty began to pull at the grey spots. They shifted on the soul, some specks lifting and disappearing into the heat of Scotty’s hands, but most of it wasn’t moving.

Once again, it didn’t work.

Scotty tried for a few more minutes before giving up. He had lost count of how many times he had done this. “I can’t,” he murmured, his hope once again taking a devastating hit.

“You tried,” Goldie said, ears drooping. They both had. If they had solid anchors they could heal Mike much easier, but a ghost attached to an animatronic spirit who had no endoskeleton to possess wasn’t going to cut it.

A flare of determination hit Scotty. “I’ll try again.” He reached. “Maybe if I get a little closer…”

His fingers grazed the inside of the wound. It quivered beneath the phantom touch, gushing out more ink.

Mike gasped sharply, jerking back. His pupils widened, narrowed, wavered. He let out choked sounds, his body shaking and arms flailing listlessly. Scotty instantly pulled away, eyes widening. Goldie cursed, wincing. It wasn’t the fact that it had hurt him, too, but also that Mike was trying to wake up. He released control of the boy’s arms, the limbs flopping to Mike’s sides. It only seemed to make the partially aware teen’s panic worse, the choking sounds becoming worse.

Goldie cupped Mike’s head with one hand and took a small shoulder in the other. “Shh, it’s okay,” he murmured. “You’re okay, tater tot, just go back to sleep.”

“Haaaa…” Mike’s sad attempt at speaking was heart wrenching. A trickle of ink ran over the side of his lip, fresh blood coming from his nose.

“You’re okay,” the suit repeated. As much as it freaked him out for the kid to be leaking blood and ooze, he needed to stay calm. He squeezed Mike’s shoulder. “Just go back to your snooze, yeah? There’s nothing to worry about.”

Tears began to run down Mike’s cheeks. “Huuuurtssss…” he moaned.

Goldie froze at the tears. Staying calm went out the window. “He’s crying. Shit, Scotty, he’s crying! Fuck, I’m making things worse, aren’t I?” He turned Mike towards him slightly, cupping the thin cheeks in both hands. “I’m sorry, totty, I didn’t mean to make you cry! I’m really sorry, Mike, I–!”

“Goldie,” Scotty interrupted hastily. “He’s not crying because you hurt him, he’s crying because of the damage Foxy did and at me shoving my hand in it. You’re not making him cry.”

The white pinpricks snapped to him. Panic and guilt colored the usually expressionless face. “He’s still crying, Scotty!” he exclaimed.

“Just calm down, Goldie. You freaking out isn’t helping him. He can probably feel what you feel.”

Shit, that was right. He let out a frustrated growl and hugged Mike to his chest. He wished he smelled better; old blood, oil, and dirt weren’t ideal scents to be calmed with. “You’re okay, totty, you’re okay,” he tried to soothe. “Everything’s okay.”

Mike was still crying. Black streamed slowly down his chin, his jaw loose as he tried to move it. He was groaning and squirming uselessly, twitching painfully with each movement.

Scotty extended his power through Goldie, smooth lines reaching and wrapping around the bear’s arms. Chris came to his mind, and then suddenly there was a flood of memories flying past his eyes. He snatched one, one of them asleep on the couch, Chris having an arm around Mike’s shoulders – it must have been this week – and played it. He made some tweaks, like heightening the comforting smells and looping it after a certain point.

The tears and noises stopped first, then the squirming. Soon Mike was limp, asleep again, safely tucked back into a protected corner in his head.

Goldie let out a breath he couldn’t physically take. “There we go,” he whispered, relieved. He let Mike settle against his chest. He wiped away some of the ooze that stuck to his chin. “Rest easy, totty.”

The spirit stood. He looked at his hand guiltily. “Sorry,” he murmured. He looked at Goldie. “You okay?”

The bear sighed. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… I don’t like it when kids cry, you know?”

Goldie had revealed that about himself after they had heard a little girl crying in the bathroom after scraping her knee. The crying didn’t make him angry, it made him panic. There wasn’t much to do but be a teddy bear for the one in need, which Goldie didn’t mind, but there was nothing he could _do_.

It was sad, but also very cute.

Black started dripping from the empty sockets out of nowhere. “Fuck,” Goldie choked. “I’m not going to lie, it’s really hard staying aligned with him. He’s so…” He paused, like he was a person holding back tears. “He’s so sad.”

“I know,” Scotty murmured. Aligning with Mike had been a devastating blow despite the incredible feeling of life. “He’s had it rough.”

“I can see so many memories. It’s all just a horrible blur.” He was rubbing Mike’s shoulder absently, comforting the unconscious boy. “He’s in so much pain, Scotty. He’s so hurt and confused. He’s chocked up everyone’s hate to him just existing, and _fuck_ it hurts so much to hear him think that. He’s just a fucking kid.”

A small, sympathetic frown curved Scotty’s lips. “At least he has people who care about him now,” he said, trying to remain optimistic. “They’ll help him through everything. It just takes time.”

"It would help if these guys would get their heads out of the backroom and back to reality," Goldie snipped. "They're doing so much damage to totty here. I don't know how much more he can take."

They heard the kitchen door open.

Scotty froze. “Goldie.”

Goldie wiped away the black streams on his cheeks. “Yeah, I hear them. Pretty sure it’s Freddy.” He stood up carefully, Mike mimicking his movement. “Up we go, totty.”

The former guard zipped behind Goldie. “Remember, use–.”

“Their fear to my advantage,” the bear finished. “Fuck, I hate being that guy, but tater tot here comes first.”

Scotty swallowed despite the action being useless. Some habits never died. “We’re going to be fine,” he said, though his voice wavered.

“And if they decide to fight back?” Goldie asked, unable to put the thought out.

“Then we run.” At Goldie’s skeptical look, Scotty gaped. “Goldie, we can’t take them all on! You’d be torn apart, Mike would be stuffed, and I’d be destroyed! It’s too dangerous.”

“Not sure how good it is to run like this.”

“You can teleport.”

“Yeah, not very far.” Breaking the laws of physics was easy, but destroying them when you needed to possess someone to just stand wasn’t an easy task.

“But far enough.”

“And then where do we go?”

“Anywhere but here.” Scotty pulled himself together tighter when the footsteps came closer. “Just play the part. We’ll figure something out.”

The figuring out part was what Goldie wasn’t confident about. The acting part, however, was. He was very good at acting. He just hoped the years of being left to rot hadn’t let his skills rust.

The steps were slow and cautious.

The butterscotch bear took control of the muscles and nerves in Mike’s face, forcing a scowl, then the ones in his throat. **_“I can hear you,”_** Goldie said through Mike’s mouth, twisting it into a snarl. Their voices came out in unison, Goldie’s warped. It wasn’t a perfect imitation of Roger, but it was close enough.

It was Freddy. The bear stopped by the window, icy eyes wide. The fear was immensely satisfying to see after everything they had done to the poor kid.

**_“Go away. Leave him alone.”_ **

“What do you want from him?” Freddy asked. His voice was confident, as was his stature, but Goldie could see the dread under the strong façade.

 ** _“Does it matter?”_** Goldie forced Mike to say. **_“At least I’m leaving your little family alone.”_**

Freddy narrowed his eyes. “What do you want from him?” he asked again. There was a demand in his tone.

Okay, the conversation needed to end fast. Goldie didn’t want to exert Mike more than he needed to. **_“Questions aren’t a wise thing to ask when your family is holed up in a kitchen for protection.”_**

That got Freddy to tense. Goldie had to remind himself that this was just a part of the show.

Then Goldie had an idea. He couldn’t outright tell Freddy, because Freddy had no reason to believe him when he thought Goldie was the spirit of a child murderer, but he could drop some hints. **_“I will say this,”_** he said after a moment. _**“You should keep Mikey on your mind.”**_

Freddy’s jaw twitched. A nerve had been hit. The icy eyes slid to Mike almost instinctively. Goldie could a spark of recognition in Freddy’s eyes, the tiny speck of hope that the guard was actually their Mikey, but the denial overshadowed it. It made Goldie want to grab and shake him, to scream how stupid they all were and that miracles did happen, but he couldn’t.

Then the spark died. “Do _not_ say his name,” Freddy growled, his eyes darkening.

Could Goldie take Freddy on? Yes, but it would be risky. Freddy had the advantage of being a solid body, whereas Goldie had to possess a very vulnerable one in order to move. If Mike was badly injured or killed, the connection would be lost, and Goldie would crumple into a pile. Scotty could help keep him up, as their symbiotic relationship allowed them both to remain here, but he was just as defenseless as Mike. Running was really their only option, but fighting wasn’t completely off the table.

Besides, Goldie _did_ want to punch Freddy in the face. He understood their actions towards the guards and their denial regarding Mike, but _come on, you’re smarter than this!_

 _ **“Leave,”**_ Goldie hissed through Mike’s teeth.

Freddy stared for another moment, then gave Goldie a dark glare, before finally disappearing back into the shadows. His footsteps were loud enough for them to know that he was really leaving.

Once Goldie heard the kitchen door open and shut, he sat back down and released most of Mike from his hold. The boy sagged like a doll against him, his face blank once again.

Scotty floated back around. “Nice job,” he praised. “I think that scared them off for the night.”

“Can’t be too sure,” Goldie said, though he knew they had won.

“Hopefully that scared them off for next week, too. From how bad the damage is…” He paused. “I think Foxy’s the only one who can get this off. It’s his energy infecting Mike’s soul. If anyone can get it off, he can.”

“And how are we going to get him to do that?” the dirty bear asked, rolling his eye dots. “Really hope you’re not expecting me to go toe-to-toe with Foxy. Freddy I could probably take on a good day, Bonnie and Chica are a definite yes, but Foxy would rip me in half and kick my ass into the afterlife. We can try asking politely to undo the damage he did now that I’ve threatened Freddy.”

Scotty glared at him. “Goldie.”

“I joke because of my personality and I joke because there are some things I struggle coping with,” Goldie said plainly. “We’ve been tethered for weeks now, pal. You should know this.”

The spirit sighed. “I-I know. I know you’re just as scared as me, I’m sorry.”

Goldie frowned, guilty. “I’m trying to stay positive like you said. It’s hard, Scotty, you know I’m trying.”

“So am I.” _And I’m not sure how much longer I can keep it up._

A beat passed.

“So what _do_ we do?” Goldie asked quietly

The hopelessness just sank in deeper. “Either I keep chipping away at it, or Foxy releases his hold over him.”

“Of course the best option is the impossible one.”

Silence between them. It was tense and heavy.

“…This is going to kill him, isn’t it?”

Scotty didn’t answer. Goldie didn’t want the answer. They didn’t bring it up again the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> Okay, the heart tugging will be much stronger next chapter. Again, this was thrown in last minute. That's more to come.


	29. Soulsick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What I had written kept expanding and expanding and I have spent so long putting this together. My brain feels like mush lol. Also the formatting kept fucking up so this is coming out over a half hour later than when I had it done.
> 
> And hey, there's more fanart! Mazanica made a (what they call lazy, I'm shook) piece with Mike, Goldie, and Scotty. You can find it on their tumblr (Again, check it out! They've got a FNAF AU too!) and on mine. Thank you Mazanica and Mangleschmidt again for their lovely fanart of the AU, you two are so sweet!
> 
> Warning: Minor gore, reiterating "past abuse/past sexual abuse" tags, the universe hates Mike :C

_Everything hurt._

_“That bastard did something to Foxy! He didn’t do it on purpose!”_

_“Is Mikey going to die?”_

_“He is dead, Agatha. He’s dead just like us.”_

_He couldn’t see anything. It was just black._

_“Shut up, Cassidy!”_

_“It’s true, Layla.”_

_“It isn’t! We can still help him!”_

_His head hurt the worst._

_“Yeah, we can’t let Mikey die! If we can’t live, we can make sure that Mikey can!”_

_“There’s something in him bleeding. We can put a band aid on it and fix it!”_

_His chest was hurting, too._

_“You honestly think that’s going to work?”_

_“We have to try, Cassidy. If you don’t want to help, fine, but we’re saving Mikey.”_

_Suddenly there was a weight on his chest. Cassidy was on top of him, sitting on him like she would always do if he went down for a nap to annoy him, but her arms weren’t crossed and she wasn’t smirking. Instead she was frowning, her arms helplessly by her sides. She was…sad._

_Cassidy was never sad._

_“Cassidy, get off of him!”_

_His mouth was open. He didn’t remember opening it. “Cass…?”_

_“Shut up,” she commanded. Her voice was strained, her eyes teary. “You live for the rest of us, got it?”_

_Live for the rest of them?_

_“Promise. That’s the only way I’m helping you. Promise me, Mikey.”_

_“You do’t like pro’sises,” he slurred._

_She scowled menacingly. “I like this one. Promise me right now.”_

_He didn’t want to argue. “Fine.”_

_That seemed to be enough. She raised her hand high, her skin turning black, and slammed it down on his chest. He felt other hands on him, grabbing at his arms and legs. His blood started burning, his skin frozen to the touch. It felt like he was being ripped apart and put back together at the same time. White split through the black, both of them swirling like an angry vortex. Stars exploded in his eyes, stars just like the ones on the curtain of Pirate Cove._

_He liked those stars._

“…ke! Mike, wake up!”

There was a rough warmth on his chest. Something was shaking him, saying something. It felt… Mike wasn’t sure how it felt. His fingers twitched just so. His body felt like it had fallen asleep, the pins and needles stinging and cold.

“I saw that. Come on, kid, wake up. You either wake up right now or I’m taking you to the hospital.”

The very mention of hospital had Mike stiffen. He groaned at the pain in his body, gritting his teeth. He peeled his eyes open, the glassy blues rolling slightly before focusing. Chris was there, leaning over him. 

Relief passed over the janitor’s face. “Thank fuck,” he breathed.

“Chris?” Mike croaked. His throat was so dry. “W–what…?”

“Just take it easy, Mike. You’re pale as hell and have blood all over you.” The hazel eyes were grim. “Fuck, that’s all from a nosebleed as far as I can tell. I’m not sure whether I’m glad or worried.”

A nosebleed? He was wondering why his nose and mouth felt sticky. “Oh.”

“That’s an understatement,” Chris said. His voice wasn’t as solid as Mike hoped. “Can you get up?”

His muscles felt loose and stiff at the same time. His limbs quivered whenever he attempted to lift them, and he was flailing sluggishly as he tried to sit up. Mike let out a groan and slumped back against the chair, a throb of pain ringing in his chest. “No…”

Chris put his hand on Mike’s chest and carefully pressed him back to the chair. “Okay, okay, just relax.”

“Everything hurts,” Mike whined.

“I know,” Chris said, even though he didn’t.

A tiny sob worked its way from the teen’s lips. His eyes were wet. “Chris…”

Chris felt his heart clench at the sound. “I’m going to pick you up, okay?”

The rough hands were gentle when sliding under Mike. The teen let out a wounded sound as he was lifted, but there was nothing Chris could do to alleviate the pain. Mike weighed next to nothing in his arms. It was so surreal how small and light the teen was. Mike turned his head and weakly pressed against Chris’s neck.

It was terrifying how small he was.

“’m cold,” Mike slurred.

Before, the thought of even touching Mike was so out of this world insane, and now Chris wasn’t sure how much closer he could hold the kid. “I can tell,” he said. He could actually feel the concerning low body heat. “Just hang on.”

“I don’ feel good.” His stomach felt like it was going to leap out of his throat.

“I know,” Chris responded. “We’ll get you some painkillers, something for your stomach, and then get you to bed. That sound good?”

Bed sounded wonderful right now. “Okay,” he murmured.

“Your stomach really fucking hates you.”

“Yeah.”

They got out to the main room. The animatronics were on stage, but Chris stopped and looked over them. The tablet had been on the table and the power was still on, something that never happened on Fridays. He had no idea how long Mike had been lying unconscious in the chair, vulnerable and hurt. They had left him alone, just like the rest of the week, but why? Chris wasn’t complaining, but he just didn’t understand what was happening or what had happened to Mike. If they didn’t do this, which Chris was sure they didn’t because their protocols would have had Mike dead by now, then what did?

The urge to vomit took Mike by surprise. The teen couldn’t stop himself from heaving and throwing up. Black sludge splattered against his shirt and Chris’s back. There were dark grey spots in it, like slugs caught in a flood. His lungs sputtered for air.

The freezing sludge hitting Chris’s back had him sucking in a sharp gasp. “Shit!” he cried.

Mike coughed and wheezed. Chris rushed over to a chair and carefully shrugged the teen off of him, sitting Mike up as best he could in the small party chair. The ink kept coming, seeping through the uniform and through Chris’s clothes.

Chris didn’t care. He reached and patted Mike’s back. “Cough it up, just cough it up.”

It was freezing. It was gross. It was so fucking terrifying that Chris couldn’t lie to himself that he was quivering from the cold ink covering his back. Mike just kept retching, the ink just kept coming. Soon nearly all of Mike’s entire front was covered with inky black and grey spots, some spattering onto Chris’s shirt. It was all over the floor, the sludge gathered into a puddle. Chris just hoped it would disappear like it did last time.

Soon the ink stopped, for the most part, and the retching became harsh wheezes. Mike slumped in the chair, his panting ragged and weak.

Chris gave the kid a gentle shake after a long pause. “Mike, are you okay?” he asked. The second between them was too short. “Kiddo, say something.”

“Hurts,” Mike rasped. He could feel the ink dribbling from his lips. “Home.”

“Yeah, we’re going home,” Chris assured. He reached and picked Mike up again. He hoped he wasn’t squeezing the kid too hard.

The teen let out a pained moan. “Wha’s happen’g?” Mike slurred.

“I don’t know,” the man admitted. Chris made deliberate steps towards the door, careful of Mike’s condition. “We’re going to figure this out, okay? You’re going to be fine.”

He felt four sets of eyes burning into his skin.

It was seconds later that Mike found himself crying out when Chris sat him in the passenger seat of the truck. It wasn’t the fact that his entire body cried out against being set against another surface, but because Chris wasn’t there anymore. The blue eyes darted around, Mike scared out of his mind at Chris’s absence. He started crying, shiny tears dotting his cheeks.

Chris came back with a ragged towel. He was still covered in sludge. “Mike, relax,” he said. The worry on his face was so sharp. “I was just in the backseat.”

It didn’t stop the tears or shaky sobs.

Chris wiped away what ink he could on Mike’s face. It was like mud against the fabric, and the janitor couldn’t help but grimace when he had to scoop some of it off. It took a few minutes, and a few rags, but Mike’s face was somewhat clean of it. Most of the blood from the nosebleed remained, however. The rags were tossed into the backseat without a second thought. Chris could care less if they stained.

Mike looked like death. The already pale skin was akin to snow at this point, the dark circles that were usually under his glassy eyes now almost black. His whole front was covered with the nauseating sludge he had coughed up, his entire body quivering weakly. The blood was hauntingly chilling despite it just being from a nosebleed and not an injury from one of the animatronics. The sight of it nearly had Chris spiraling.

Chris bit the bullet. “We might have to go to a hospital,” he said after a moment.

Terror struck the teen. “No hospitals!” Mike blurted. He struggled to sit up, his muscles screaming in protest. “No hospitals!”

“Hey, hey, Mike, relax!” Chris exclaimed, grabbing the boy by the shoulders and pinning him firmly to the seat. “You need to calm down.”

“No hospitals,” he repeated. Fear added to the pain on his face, his eyes wet. “I don’t like hospitals.”

“I know you don’t,” the man said carefully, “but we might have to go later. We’re just going to wait for now. Just try and relax, you’re going to pull something at this rate.”

Mike wanted to protest more, but he finally relented and went quiet. Chris took it as a win. He buckled Mike in without a second thought, shut the door, and jogged to his side of the truck.

After a few minutes of cutting corners and attempting to drive somewhat safely - he couldn't afford to be pulled over now - Chris asked, “Mike, what happened?” He needed to keep Mike talking.

Mike blinked slowly, trying to refocus. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted. “I was… Foxy was…”

“Foxy was there?” _And didn’t kill you?_ “Okay, what else?”

Mike managed to wet his lips. He was so thirsty. “They all… They all ran away.”

They all? Alright, so that meant there had been more than one animatronic there. Bonnie was the only other one who went down that hall. “Ran away?” Chris echoed. “They’re just robots.”

“More than that,” the teen murmured. “They were ‘lways there.”

 _Always there._ Chris’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. The pizzeria had been a safe space for Mike in his childhood, a place where he could be without the fear of being beaten. The animatronics were so life-like, something not even Chris could deny, and a child’s imagination combined with the need to be loved could create an airtight attachment. That was why Mike couldn’t get rid of Foxy and why he was worried about Chris smashing the animatronics, because he was still clinging to the childish imagination and safety they had given him as a kid.

_Fuck._

Chris attempted to steer the conversation away. “Why did you have a nosebleed, Mike?”

Mike tried to think. Why did he have a nosebleed? “I…don’t know,” he said quietly. “I think… I remember something yellow. Scotty…”

“Scotty?” Chris echoed. Something in him twisted at the former guard’s name.

“He told me to let go,” Mike whispered. The bits and pieces of what he could remember were shredded. “I fell asleep.”

“You fell asleep,” Chris echoed, testing the words on his tongue. He gave Mike a cautious glance. “Mike, we just had a talk about ghosts a few hours ago. Don’t fucking tell me that Scotty possessed you.”

“Then I won’t tell you,” Mike mumbled.

The remark lightened some of the weight crushing him. “Smartass.”

It was seconds later when they pulled into Logan’s driveway. The manager was on the doorstep, probably having been out there the moment Chris left. He jogged over to the truck.

Chris got out. “Logan, promise me you’ll keep calm,” he said, shutting the door.

Logan paled. “Why? What happened? Is Mike hurt?”

“Yeah, and I need you not to freak out.”

The moment Chris opened the passenger door, Mike looked up at them with bleary eyes, Logan gasped. “Oh my god!”

“Damn it, Logan, shut up!” Chris hissed. They didn’t need to be waking up the whole neighborhood when people were already starting to get ready for work. “We need to get him cleaned off and in bed.”

The manager gaped at him in disbelief. “Chris, we need get him to a hospital!”

Mike’s eyes widened in an instant. His fingers flexed painfully, nails digging into his arms. His breathing came out fast and raspy. “No. No, I don’t want to go to the hospital.”

“I told him we would later,” Chris said hastily to Logan. He glanced down at Mike. “Mike, you have to relax.”

“Don’t take me there,” Mike whimpered. “I don’t like hospitals.”

“Then we’ll do a house call.” Logan caught the sharp gaze from the hazel eyes. “Chris, he needs a doctor!”

“I’m not sure a doctor is going to do anything for that!” Chris exclaimed, thrusting his hand out to Mike’s chest.

Logan looked back, confused. He did a double take of the two of them and sucked in a breath. “Oh my god,” he gasped. “What is that? It's all over both of you.”

“I think it’s the…soul.” Chris shook his head. “Fuck, I don’t know. He’s throwing it up and it’s not natural, so that’s my best guess.”

Logan swallowed. He looked like he was going to be sick. “He still needs a doctor.”

“Fine, we’ll get a fucking doctor! Just help me get him inside!”

Chris ended up being the one to carry Mike inside, Logan leading the way to hold the door open. The warm air of the house washed over Mike’s frigid skin, but he still shivered. The ink on Chris’s shirt was cold against him, soaking into his clothes and skin. He felt like nothing could ever warm him up again. Buddy was jumping up and down, Logan gently fending the retriever off from jumping on Mike and Chris.

Petunia was standing in the dining room, dressed for working a partial shift she had taken in warm red pantsuit with stripes. She never left before Mike got home. She gasped at the sight of Mike and Chris. “Oh my god!”

“Déjà vu,” Chris huffed.

“We need to get him to the–!”

Chris cut her off with a growl. “Petunia, that’s the magic word you _don’t_ want to say."

She worried her bottom lip for a second before she rushed over. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” the janitor told her. “I found him with a nosebleed and then he started throwing this stuff up.”

Petunia cupped Mike’s cheek gently. “Where does it hurt, honey pie?”

Mike slumped into her palm. “My chest,” he mumbled. “My head.”

“Did any of the animatronics do this?” Logan asked. He wasn’t sure how they could cause a nosebleed without hitting Mike, because the boy’s nose would be horrifically broken if that was the case, or how they were causing Mike to vomit of – possibly – pieces of his _soul_ , but he wasn’t sure who else could have done this.

“No.” Chris gave a frustrated huff. “Look, I’ll tell you later. Right now he needs to lay down.”

Petunia looked at Logan. “I can stay,” she offered.

Logan wanted her to stay more than anything, he was practically craving the emotional support and relief of his wife, but there was nothing any of them could really do. He shook his head despite the reluctance. “No. We can handle it.”

The redhead looked back and forth between them. She wanted to stay and help, but what good would a third clueless person do? “Ok,” she said, conceding. She leaned down and gave Mike a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you later, honey pie. Be brave.”

 _Stay_ , Mike wanted to say, but his tired jaw wouldn’t move.

Petunia gave Chris a friendly cheek peck. “Keep my husband from panicking,” she said, only half joking.

“No promises,” Chris muttered. He appreciated her encouragement, although small.

She moved past him and gave Logan a grounding, but gentle kiss on the lips. Logan was all too happy to return it. Petunia looked at him with dreary eyes when they separated. “Stay calm and look after them,” she said to him.

“Of course.” He gave a small, crooked smile. “Tami won’t have a problem with watching the girls for a little longer, will she?”

“They’ll keep Samantha occupied. Tami won’t have any complaints,” Petunia answered, a small smile gracing her lips.

Chris rolled his eyes. “Don’t get married,” he whispered loudly to Mike. “You’ll turn out like them.”

Mike gave him a weak, amused smile. Logan and Petunia kissed each other goodbye again before she left.

Chris carried Mike up the stairs, Logan and Buddy following them. The janitor stopped in front of the bathroom. How were they going to do this without destroying Mike’s pride? He felt for the kid, he really did, but the stuff wasn’t going away and it was absolutely freezing.

“I’ll do it,” Logan said. He knew what the other man was thinking. He caught Chris’s look. “Chris, I have two daughters. I highly doubt bathing a boy is any different.”

“He’s a teenager,” Chris retorted weakly. Really, he was just trying to defend the kid’s dignity.

“That can barely move. You’re the last person I would think to say anything about this.” Logan held out his hands. “Give him here.”

The other man sighed. He moved closer and settled Mike into Logan’s arms before withdrawing his grip. It was a smooth transaction. Logan felt his stomach drop a little when he felt how light Mike was. They'd have to make him a better oriented diet for him to gain weight faster.

Mike realized what was happening too late. “Chris?” he called weakly, his glassy eyes big.

“Logan’s going to wash all it off of you,” Chris told him. “I’m going to get your bed and clothes ready, okay? I’ll be right in the other room.”

“Don’t leave,” Mike begged.

“I’ll be in the other room, Mike,” he repeated. “Logan’s going to be with you.”

Mike looked up at Logan. His eyes were so big and sad that Logan felt like he was looking at Buddy in the shelter all over again. “Come on, sport, let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, walking into the bathroom.

Chris walked towards the spare bedroom. "Buddy, come," he ordered. As much as the dog wanted to help, Buddy was incredibly clingy and clumsy. They didn't need him accidentally trampling anyone.

Logan settled Mike on the toilet seat lid. Mike slumped with a pained whine and nearly fell off until the man grabbed him again. “Easy,” he murmured. He righted Mike slowly.

“It hurts,” Mike whimpered. He trembled as he tried to keep himself up. “’m so tired.”

God, Logan just wanted the universe to give this kid a break. “I know, sport. We’ll get this all cleaned off, get you dressed, and then get you into bed. Just bear with me, okay?”

The teen sucked in a short breath at the throbbing pain in his chest. “Okay.”

The inky substance made the action of pulling Mike’s clothes off difficult. It was as if it was soaked with water, but a little heavier. Mike was like a doll, though his body quivered with effort to stay upright. The shirt finally came off once Logan found and undid all the buttons, and he swallowed harshly. Most of the sludge had come off with the shirt, revealing so much of the scarred skin. He fought from saying anything, because the last thing he wanted to do right now was cause Mike any further distress. His heart, already struggling to hold itself together, broke into pieces at the sight. 

At seventeen, Logan had been having fun with his friends breaking rules, being stupid, and making friends with the cops he frequently ran into. At seventeen, Mike was struggling with self-harm, escaping from abuse and neglect, and was walking the fine line of life and death every day. Two incredibly different worlds.

“I ruined it again,” Mike mumbled.

Ah, he was talking about the uniform. “It’s fine,” the manager said. “We have plenty.”

The clothes were tossed into the sink with a wet _splat_. Logan left Mike’s boxers on for the sake of the boy’s dignity despite them being tainted with the inky sludge. Hopefully most of it would come off. The bandages around the hands came off next, then the wound. Many of the bites were faded and scabbed lightly, and the hook wound had healed up fairly fine. The stitches would need to come out soon.

“Okay,” the blond said. He rolled up his sleeves, then carefully picking Mike up. He maneuvered the stitched limb around his neck. “Into the bath you go.”

Mike had fallen into a small daze. He let out a sharp whine at the feeling of the water against his skin, his limbs twitching in a sad attempt to struggle.

“You’re okay,” Logan soothed, doing his best to ease Mike into it. He was on his knees now. “You’ll feel a lot better, sport. Just relax.”

After the initial shock of the water was gone, Mike slumped in the tub, his left arm hanging over the edge. The warm water felt so nice against his cold skin. He felt the faint urge to cover himself, hide his body and its marks, but his arms just wouldn’t move and he was so tired. He felt of the ink slipping off of his skin. They sank to the bottom of the tub and didn’t spread. Logan watched with wide eyes as they steadily grew smaller and smaller, some already disappearing. There was still a layer on Mike’s chest and thighs, however. It wasn’t disappearing on Mike, but it disappeared when it wasn’t on him.

The chocolate eyes gave a quick glance to the sink. That was something to test later if it didn't disappear.

"I'm going to wash it off. Just relax, okay?"

Logan found that he could just push the ink off of Mike. He was careful, running the side of his hands over Mike’s chest and stomach to shove it off. It came off of the small body in blankets, floating for a short amount of time before steadily shrinking. The only area that it didn’t disappear from was Mike’s boxers, and Logan wasn’t too concerned about it. As long as most of it was off, it was fine.

Mike’s eyelids fluttered as he tried to stay awake. "Little better," he murmured.

"That's good." Logan grabbed a rag and dipped it into the water. “Hopefully this stuff doesn’t clog the drain. I don’t know how we’d explain it to the plumber.”

The teen grunted. “Itchy.” He tried moving his arm.

“Hey, I’ve got it,” Logan said. “Where at?”

“Head.”

Logan assumed that Mike meant the back and reached around. He blinked whenever his fingers brushed against matted hair. He shifted on his knees to get a better look. Almost the entire area of Mike’s head was covered in dirt and dust.

“What did you fall in?” Logan murmured, confused. There was no way Chris or one of the other janitors would leave behind so much dirt.

_Dirty yellow in his face, a hand cupping the back of his head. He was slipping away, onto the couch in the living room. Chris was there, and then he was sleeping again._

A glob of cold shampoo landed on his hair. Mike shuddered when Logan’s fingers started to work it in. “Cold.”

“Yeah, I know,” Logan said. “This stuff’s really gross, though, no wonder it itches. I’ll wash your hair real quick.”

Mike should have minded that somebody else was touching his hair, but he didn’t. Logan was gentle about it, tan fingers rubbing into his scalp. It was relaxing and it felt nice. He slipped into a small doze.

Logan grasped Mike’s head after a few minutes and tilted it forward. “Close your eyes.”

Mike obeyed. The shampoo was washed away, rivulets running down his cheeks and over his nose. The conditioner was worked into his hair next. It wasn’t a surprise seeing as they were already halfway through the process.

Logan’s hands suddenly pulled away. “Jesus!”

Mike blinked back to semi-awareness. He looked down to see the black leaking through his lips and into the water. “Oh." The sound was gurgled.

The blond got up quickly. “Hang on a second, Mike. Don’t move.”

Seconds later there was a cup of water shoved under Mike’s mouth. The ink pooled into it steadily. Logan held it there for a bit, watching it fill. Soon the ink stopped flowing, half the cup having been filled. In such a small space, they had combined. It wasn’t shrinking.

The water was cold. Just as Logan thought.

Mike swallowed roughly. He tasted blood. “What’re you doing?” he asked.

“Just a little test,” the man told him, setting it on the sink. “It doesn’t disappear when its cold.”

“But _I’m_ cold,” Mike said.

Logan blinked. That was very true. He sighed and deflated. “This is so confusing.” He walked back over and dropped to his knees. “Did it hurt at all?”

“No.” Mike shivered. The water wasn't too warm anymore. “I'm freezing.”

It was like Mike blinked. He was in the bath with conditioner in his hair, and then he was being wrapped into a fluffy towel on the toilet set. There was a set of clothes on the sink. Logan was saying something, but it was muffled in his ears. He was suddenly hyperaware of the cup of ink on the sink next to the scattered toothbrushes.

_Me. That’s me. I need it back, I need it back, it’s a piece of me._

“Mike? Sport, just relax.”

Mike’s gaze darted to him. “What?”

Logan bit his lip. “Your, uh, eyes are doing that thing again.” He had seen Mike do it a few times before at the dinner table after the girls had gone to bed to move glasses and mugs, but it was still a little unnerving.

Whatever concentration had been focused on the cup disappeared. The black disappeared from Mike’s eyes, the glassy blues returning with more exhaustion than before. God, he was so cold and tired. He just wanted to sleep.

“So, you’re not going to like this part, but I need to change your shorts.”

Mike let out a sound. Logan couldn’t tell if it was frustration or fear.

“I’m not going to look, Mike,” Logan reassured. “Besides, even if I do somehow catch a glimpse, we’re both guys here. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“Logan.”

“Do you want to hear about the time my friends and I–?”

“No.”

“We streaked across a golf course in the middle of the night when I was sixteen and I won, so I got immunity from getting slapped in the–.”

“Oh my god, stop,” Mike groaned. His cheeks were incredibly bright compared to his pale complexion.

Logan chuckled. “You didn’t even notice I changed your shorts.”

Mike blinked owlishly. The piece of clothing was on the floor next to the man. Logan had maintained eye-contact with him the entire time and had gotten a new set of boxers on him. “How did you…?”

“My daughters liked to run around the house, Mike. I had to use every opportunity I could to distract them long enough to get them dressed on the run. You think I haven’t played ‘pin the undies on the streaking toddler’?”

The teen snorted softly. “Gee, wonder where they got that from?”

“Tush-é.”

A weak bark of laughter escaped Mike. His chest constricted with it, his laugh turning into a pained wheeze.

Logan frowned, guilty. “Sorry, sport. Couldn’t help myself.”

He got the rest of the boy dressed. A plain t-shirt and sweatpants would be fine. Logan sat there for a beat, contemplating before deciding not to bandage Mike’s hands and arm. It wouldn’t hurt to let them breathe for a bit, and he wasn’t too keen on keeping Mike up for much longer.

“There, all dressed.” Logan reached and carefully gathered Mike into his arms. “Now let’s get you to bed. The sheets are nice and fresh.”

Mike let out a weak hum.

Chris was sitting on the edge of the bed, Buddy curled up at the foot of it. He had changed into a grey hoodie and another set of jeans. He stood whenever he saw Logan carrying Mike in and moved out of the way. “You’re not wrapping anything?” he asked.

The blond shook his head. “No. I’m sure they’ll be fine.” He leaned over and carefully set Mike on the bed. “There you go.”

Mike slumped into the mattress with a ragged sigh. Buddy stood and made his way over before plopping next to the boy. Mike smiled weakly. He wished he could pet Buddy, but moving hurt, so he was content to just be next to the dog.

“Chris, can you watch him for a second?” Logan asked the other man. “I need to test something.”

“Test what?” Chris raised a brow. “That sludge shit?”

“Yeah, I think I’m onto something.” Logan turned and jogged out. “I’ll be right back.”

Chris huffed. He sat down next to Mike. “How do you feel, kid?”

“It feels like something’s eating me,” he whispered.

Chris felt his stomach twist at the words. He reached and ran a hand through the dark locks. “You’re going to be okay,” he murmured. There was a promise in his voice despite the situation. “Just get some sleep.”

“Stay?” There was desperation in his voice.

Chris didn’t hesitate. “I’m not going anywhere.”

That was all Mike needed to hear to finally give into the exhaustion.

-

_He was cowering by one of the party tables. It was so dark, but he could see the suit. It was him. It was the yellow Freddy, the one he saw leading his friends away, the one stained with blood and sickly grin, and now he was here to take Mike._

_“Mike? Totty, don’t you remember me? It was just a few hours ago…”_

_Scotty was there by the suit’s side. He was mangled to pieces. His eyeballs hung by strings from their sockets to hang by his broken jaw, a few teeth littering the bleeding gums. Patches of hair were gone and parts of the scalp were shredded mostly around the sides; the head of the suit must have been twisted back and forth. His stomach was sliced open, his guts still attached to him as they sat in a pile on the floor. His feet were nothing but bloody slabs, his toes broken and his ankles twisted in different directions._

_“Goldie, we need to stay back.” His voice was so clear for such a disfigured body._

_“Totty, it’s… I’m not him, okay? Just relax…”_

_There was blood all over the yellow fur. The blood of Mike’s friends. His heart was pounding so fast that he thought it was going to explode._

_“Goldie, he’s seeing something a lot different right now. We can’t be here.”_

_“We can’t just leave him like this!” The suit reached for him. “Mike…”_

_Their blood stained the paws. Mike shrieked._

_Scotty grabbed the suit’s arm. His broken fingers and torn palms gripped it tightly. “Goldie, stop! You’re making it worse!”_

_“But–!”_

_“Goldie, he’s seeing you through Foxy’s eyes, and I have a pretty good feeling what I took like to him. We need to stop before we make things worse.”_

_“He’s going to die, Scotty!” The suit was still grinning despite the concerned tone._

_“A-a-and we’ll give him a heart attack and kill him right now at this rate!” the dead guard retorted. “We need to leave now.”_

_Mike scrambled to his feet. He whipped around and ran towards the darkened Cove. “Foxy!” he cried. “Help me!”_

_“Mike, no!” the two yelled. “Foxy’s not–!”_

_A beast leapt through the curtains and onto Mike. He was slammed into the floor, his skull ringing and chest fitting to burst with pain. It was on top of him, its eyes black and empty. Blood covered the creature’s fangs, chunks of bone, brain, and matted locks of black hair escaped its mouth. Pieces landed on Mike’s face. It was growling like a rabid animal, its mouth just inches above his head._

_The beast lunged at him. He felt teeth breaking through the flesh on his face._

Mike jerked up with a strangled gasp. Something fell from his face. He felt like he was on fire, his skin too tight and too hot. His entire body screamed at him, its screams forcing one of his own from his lungs. His eyes teared up instantly, his pained whimpers high. He swayed violently.

“Shit!” A warm _hothothot_ hand was on his shoulder. “Mike, relax! Lay back down!”

The teary blues snapped to Chris. The man looked like he hadn’t slept. “Chris?” he croaked. “It hurts.”

“I know,” Chris said for what felt like the umpteenth time. He rubbed Mike’s shoulder carefully. “I know. Just take it easy.”

“Hot,” Mike whined.

“I know,” Chris repeated. He reached and picked up a damp rag from Mike’s lap. “You started running a fever a little bit ago. Hold still.”

Chris pushed back the hair covering the scar on his forehead and pressed the rag against him. Mike shuddered, then slumped against Chris and settled. It felt like too much and not enough at the same time.

“Just take it easy,” the janitor repeated. He patted Mike’s shoulder gently. “Are you going to throw up again?”

His stomach was rolling and he felt like the world was upside-down, but he didn’t feel any imminent danger. “Maybe,” Mike managed to say.

“Thought so. We’ve got a bucket on guard right next to the bed.” Chris looked at the foot of the bed. “And Buddy.”

The golden retriever opened his eyes at his name. How long had Buddy been with him?

Logan poked his head through the door. “Hey, sport,” he greeted. “How are you feeling?”

Chris looked over, hazel eyes grim. “It’s bad,” he said, answering for the boy. At least Logan wasn’t bringing up the screaming. “Where’s Hannah?”

Hannah? Who was that?

“She’s right behind me.” Logan turned his head back for a moment, then back to Mike. “Hannah’s one of the inside doctors,” he said. “Are you up for her seeing you?”

Did he really have a choice at this point? “Sure,” Mike rasped.

Hannah had a friendly face, her lipstick painted lips pulled into a warm smile. Her hair was alive with shiny and short curls, outlining her plump cheeks. Her skin was deep sepia, bright under the light filtering through the curtains. A unicorn shell hung from a string around her neck. She wore casual attire, a frilly yellow blouse sitting perfectly on her wide shoulders with white jean capris. She was holding a small black bag by the handles.

“Hello, Mike,” the woman greeted. Her voice was deep. “I’m Hannah.”

“Hi,” Mike rasped in return.

Hannah walked over. Her toenails were painted yellow, Mike noticed, as were her fingernails. “I’m just going to give you a little checkup, okay? Then I’ll be out of your hair so that you can rest.”

“Okay,” he managed to say.

The woman sat down on the edge of the bed and set her bag next to her. She pulled out a stethoscope and put it on, holding it by the end. “I have a feeling deep breaths are going to be hard, but just pull in the deepest ones you can, okay?”

Mike could feel the cold metal through his shirt. It was hard to breathe, his lungs shrinking to the size of pebbles with each inhale. His breaths were ragged and filled with struggle. Chris firmly rubbing the center of his back did nothing to alleviate the pressure.

Hannah pulled the stethoscope back. “Very good.” She turned back to her bag. “A little rough there. There might be some fluid in the lungs.”

There was a scar on the underside of Hannah’s jaw. It was small and thin, but very…concentrated. It shouldn’t have made Mike curious enough to stare, but there was just something so odd about it.

Hannah must have noticed, because she asked, “It’s a pretty precise scar, huh?”

Mike whipped his eyes away, color dotting his cheeks.

She smiled gently. “It’s okay, I actually like telling the story. But first open your mouth and lift your tongue.”

The teen obeyed her. A thermometer was slipped underneath his tongue and held by his lips.

“Good. Now you see, this scar wasn’t no accident. It’s from my ex-husband.”

Mike’s eyes widened. She said it so nonchalantly that he thought she was joking.

“Yeah, I’m a little jaded,” she chuckled. The slipped the thermometer from his mouth and looked at it. She grimaced and looked at Logan. “Keep some cool towels nearby and put them around his neck and wrists.”

Logan nodded. Mike could tell that he was staring at the scars. It stung a little, but could he really blame the guy?

“Anyways, I was young and dumb. I went through a phase where I _had_ to disobey everyone no matter what, so when I met Bart, I ignored all the red flags because everyone was pointing them out to me. I fell hard for a bad boy.” She reached for her bag. “I need to take some blood. Can you be brave for me?”

“Yeah,” he managed to say.

The sight of the needle was suddenly very menacing. Mike shut his eyes tightly, a shiver going through him. It wasn’t so scary before, why was he scared now? Because he was sick?

A rough hand settled over his, curling around it. “Deep breaths, Mike,” Chris said. His voice was low, soothing.

The rubbing alcohol was washed over the crease above his forearm before the needle slid in. It felt so weird and gross.

“You remind me of my son, Jamie,” Hannah said as the vial filled. “He’s my oldest. Sweet boy until he sees a needle. He’s always hated them, but he would always be an example and put on a brave face whenever his sisters were getting their shots or blood taken.”

He remembered what Petunia said earlier. It was enough to make up for the lack of siblings.

“I’ll take three, okay? Just hang tight.” She popped off the filled vial and replaced it with an empty one. “So like I was saying, I fell in love with a bad boy. I started dated him when I was a junior and was with him until I was twenty-four. We married after I graduated and I had Jamie a year later.”

Mike never imagined living past 10, and she had graduated, gotten married, and had a child at 18?

“At that point, I had next to no friends.” Hannah replaced the vial again. “Bart isolated me, and I pushed them away whenever I did see them. I barely saw my family. My poor daddy and mama barely got to see their own daughter and grandchild.”

The title for Hannah’s mother made Mike tense. The needle was constricted in his hot skin. Chris gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Easy,” the woman said. She capped the last vial and set it aside. “And we’re done with the blood. Good job.”

Mike was relieved when the needle finally came out of him. At least that part was over.

Hannah pulled out an ophthalmoscope. “Alright, look at me like I just found drugs on you.”

The teen gaped at her with wide eyes. “What?” he squeaked.

She flicked on the light and pointed it into his left eye. “Always works. Look up.”

Mike obeyed and pouted despite the soreness of his cheeks. “Not a druggie,” he muttered.

At Hannah and Logan’s quick glance, Chris shrugged. “Inside joke.”

The doctor chuckled. “Gotta ease the tension somehow. Now down… Now left… Right…” She went to his other eye. “Same show. Up.”

Once his eyes were given the OK, Hannah pulled out an otoscope. “So like I was saying, I started a family with Bart. By the time Jamie was two, I had cut off all contact with my family and avoided what few friends I had left. I defended Bart every second I was with them despite the fact that he would hit me, yell at me, and degrade me to my very core.”

Defending someone every second? Sounded like someone, and some robots, that Mike knew.

“Then I came home from work one day to find him holding my Jamie by his leg.” Her kind face twisted into a snarl even as she concentrated on looking into Mike’s ear. “I charged and punched him so hard I broke his nose. He broke my baby’s ankle because he felt like it, and that was my wake-up call. As awful as it was and as much as I wanted to stay, that made me realize that I had to leave if Jamie was going to grow up happy.” She switched to the other one. “I told him right there that I was leaving and taking Jamie with me, and when I marched to the door he put a knife to my throat.”

And had nearly killed her, from what Mike could tell from the scar.

Hannah pulled away and shut off the device. Her face was tinged with anger. “I elbowed him hard in the gut and bit his wrist, then I ran like hell screaming for help. By the time the cops got there I was covered in blood and Jamie was screaming himself hoarse, and after I was taken to the hospital, a nurse called my parents.” Hannah’s eyes became shiny. “They were so happy to see me. We were all crying and laughing and hugging. Even after everything I had said and done, they were still cared about me. I was rolling out apology after apology, and they just kept forgiving me. They said it wasn’t my fault, that I was been manipulated and hurt.”

 _Wasn’t my fault._ That was a phrase desperately wanted to believe in for himself. He wanted to not believe it was his fault for everything that had happened, everything, but he just couldn’t.

_Because it was._

Hannah was still talking, Chris was still holding his hand, and Logan was still there, but Mike was gone. The bed became _hardwood floors and his hands shrank. Mama was standing in front of him with that dead look in her eyes and wet cheeks. Sir’s boot was on his back, pressing into his spine hard enough where it cracked._

_"You can’t walk for shit,” Sir spat. “Look what you did to her. You’re making her cry because of how pathetic you are.”_

_Mikey didn’t want to make Mama cry, he wanted to make Mama happy. He tried to get up, but Sir wouldn’t move. He started crying again like had when Sir tripped him._

_“Stop crying!” Sir barked. “You’re supposed to be a man and you’re crying like a little bitch. God, how did I end up with you?”_

_Mikey tried to get up again. Sir’s shoe still didn’t move._

_“Look at him, bitch,” Sir snarled to the woman. “Look what you gave me. I wanted a son and I get this pathetic infant. He can’t even walk without fucking up.”_

_Fresh tears sprung to the dead brown eyes. Her lip wobbled._

_“Pathetic,” Sir huffed. He stepped off of Mikey and reached down, yanking the toddler up by his hair to his feet. Mikey wailed. “Go on, walk. Go to her.”_

_Mikey wiped his face. He looked at Mama. She wasn’t on her knees or holding out her hands, she just stood there. It didn’t deter Mikey, because she wanted him to walk. He moved forward on wobbly feet._

_Something hit his back and he was on the floor again, his chin banging against the wood. He cried._

_“Fucking pathetic. No wonder she hates you.”_

_Mikey didn’t want Mama to hate him. He got to his feet again and waddled over. She stood there like pole, unmoving, even when he grabbed at her poorly sewn dress. She didn’t do anything. She didn’t smile and pat him on the head, she just did…nothing._

“…married to the best man in the world with three kids.”

“Hannah, hang on. Mike, are you okay?”

_Mama kicked him away. Mikey fell flat on his back, his head knocking against the floor. The tears came fast. What did he do wrong? Wasn’t that supposed to make her happy?_

_When Mikey looked up, she looked like she did in his dreams sometimes. Like how she described the shadows. Her hair reminded Mikey of neighbors’ tree in their yard, sharp and spread. Her skin was pitch black, her dead eyes and dull teeth the only things sticking out. Her dark blue dress was littered with patches, the flowers on the fabric wilted and dark._

_Mikey started screaming. She reached for him._

Mike jerked away from the touch on his hand. “Don’t touch me.”

Chris and Logan looked at him, startled. Hannah pulled away swiftly. “Alright. We just finished, as well. You did very well.”

He didn’t say anything. If she said anything else, Mike didn’t hear her. Hannah stood and said something to Logan, and then the two were out the door. He wanted nothing more than to flop back onto the bed and sleep for a thousand years next to Buddy. The dog was sitting on the teen’s legs, nosing Mike through his pants.

“You okay?” Chris asked. “What happened there?”

Mike swallowed. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Chris didn’t press. The faraway look that had entered the blue eyes was enough for Chris to know whatever had happened wasn’t good. He had a feeling as to what, and he felt bad for wanting to leave for a minute after Mike had just experienced it, but he wanted to hear what Logan and Hannah were saying. He moved slightly.

Mike’s weak grip tightened slightly at Chris’s movement.

“Gotta use the bathroom,” Chris said. It wasn’t entirely a lie. He had been sitting there for hours. “I’ll be right back.”

Mike released him. He managed to pull his aching hands together. “Can I have some water?”

Shit, they hadn’t even thought about that. “Sure.” Chris stood and stretched. His back popped and cracked. “Do you want something to eat?”

Eating probably wasn’t a good idea, but he was sort of hungry. “Yeah.”

“Got it. I’ll be back with something.” He glanced at Buddy. “I better not come back with you ready to jump me. I will absolutely destroy you.”

Buddy’s lips pulled back slightly before he sneezed. Mike giggled.

After Chris went to the bathroom, he went downstairs. Hannah and Logan were by the door, their voices fairly low. It wasn’t like Mike was going to hear anything from his spot or drag himself out of bed to eavesdrop, but it was the thought that counted.

“…didn’t have to do that for him. Thank you.”

“I know what it’s like to be abused. It’s good for him to hear that he isn’t alone.”

Chris strolled up to them. “So what’s the verdict?” he asked, even though he knew what the biggest ailment actually was.

“I’m not too sure yet,” Hannah admitted. “All I can say for now is to keep a close eye on him. Make sure he’s hydrated, and give him food that’ll be easy on his system.”

“Okay. Thank you so much for coming out here, Hannah,” Logan said. “With how much he hates hospitals…”

“I understand,” the woman said, waving her hand disarmingly. “It got me some time out of the place anyways. It’s a win-win.” A small beep in her pocket had her pulling out her phone. “I need to get back to the hospital. We’ll see if there’s anything his blood can tell us and get back to you. Remember what I said about fluids and eating.”

“Got it. Thanks again, Hannah.”

“No problem. I’ll get back to you later.” Hannah turned, then stopped. She looked at the two men. “I know we agreed on not talking about him aside from the illness, but I feel like I need to say something.”

Chris scowled. Logan sighed. “Hannah…”

“No, it’s not about his self-harm, but I will say he needs that therapist soon.” Hannah reached up and grasped the centerpiece of her necklace, rubbing it slowly. “Was there any…sexual abuse happening to him beforehand?”

Logan’s eye darted to Chris. “Chris?”

Chris looked at him incredulously. “I had to drag everything else out of him. As if he would tell me if that was happening.”

“I’d ask about it, just in case.”

“How the hell did you get a gut feeling about that kind of thing?”

“I’ve treated a lot of people over the years. You tend know who’s in for what before they open their mouths.” Hannah turned and opened the door. “Take care of him.”

“Already on it,” Chris muttered when the door shut. He looked at Logan. “How the hell are we even going to begin bringing that up?”

Logan sighed. “We’ll just have to ask.”

Chris opened his mouth to make a sarcastic remark, then shut it. He wasn’t that much of a dick.

Mike was petting Buddy slowly when they came back up. His face was pinched in a small grimace, his cheeks still bright red from his fever, but it seemed like he couldn’t resist petting the dog.

Chris set the plate of toast and glass of water on the nightstand. “Think you can stomach that?”

“Yeah,” the teen said. He grabbed a piece of toast _– that hurt –_ and took a bite. “Thank you,” he mumbled past his mouthful.

“Careful, Mike, Buddy will take that right out of your hand,” Logan warned.

Buddy had decided to prove Logan’s point, his jaws snapping at the toast. Mike managed to pull back at the last second, grimacing at the pull of his muscles. The retriever simply gave a doggy grin, tail wagging.

“Buddy, bad,” Logan scolded. “No.”

A few minutes passed. Mike managed to finish his toast and drink some water with some help. Still, he looked terrible, his skin waxy and cheeks bright. He looked incredibly exhausted, and the two men were debating on whether they should go through and ask the question at all.

Logan took in a breath. “Mike, did anything else happen when you lived with your parents?”

Mike stiffened. Chris’s eyes sent Logan a sharp look. That had come out of nowhere and without any warning. Yeah, because that was how you wanted to open a question about being sexually abused.

The teen had to shut out the beginnings of Mama’s whispering. “No,” he said quickly.

Too quickly, the two men noted. “You’re safe here, Mike,” the blond said. “You can tell us anything.”

 _There’s nothing to tell,_ Mike wanted to respond, but something stopped him. Petunia had told him her story, opened her heart and soul to him. It had been for a different issue, but she still did it. Logan had been the one to initially take him in, and Chris had been looking out for him for weeks. They both had kept their promises. They were both still here.

He had everything to lose, but no one seemed too keen on leaving him like he feared.

At Mike’s lack of response, Logan swallowed. “Did…?” Just the very thought of the words made him want to vomit. “Did anyone touch you, Mike?”

“…Yeah.” He felt disgusting just to confirm it.

Logan felt his stomach roll. Chris tried not to punch the wall. “Who?” He couldn’t help the rough growl in his voice.

Mike bit his lip. He couldn’t tell them, he couldn’t. If he told them, then he’d have to tell them more about Mama, and then that would lead to…

“Mike, you can tell us,” Chris told him.

“Stop,” Mike snapped. “Just stop.”

“Mike.”

The fire burned out almost instantly. The dull blues watered. “Please.”

“Okay,” Logan said. He whipped his attention to Chris at the man’s disbelieving look. “Chris, he doesn’t want to talk about it. Let him be.”

_"Leave me alone, Mama."_

Something shifted in his chest. The sharp stab of pain that pierced him had Mike shrieking.

“What the hell?!” Chris yelled. He grabbed Mike’s shoulder. “Mike!”

Buddy started barking. 

Mike grabbed at his chest, gritting his teeth. His eyes flickered. “Augh!”

“What’s wrong? What hurts?” Chris asked. He gritted his teeth at Buddy’s barking. “Logan, get him off the bed!”

“Buddy, down!” Logan ordered, voice wavering. The dog obeyed, though he stood next to the bed, yipping. “Should I–?”

Ink leaked from Mike’s eyes. With a rabid snarl, he pressed his hands onto his chest and yanked outwards. A sphere was ripped through his shirt, hovering behind his curled fingers and pouring black onto his lap. The cut on the front quivered, Mike hissing and fresh wave of ink leaking from his eyes.

Chris jumped back. “Holy shit!”

Mike recoiled so violently at the shout that he smacked the back of his head off of the wall. He yelped at the pain. The sphere shuddered.

Chris was gaping. “What the absolute fuck?”

“Buddy, come here,” Logan said. He didn’t want Buddy licking it. He stared at the sphere. “What is that?”

Mike swallowed harshly. “I… I think it’s my soul.” He wasn’t sure how to feel about seeing his own soul outside of his body. It was just a ball, but it was still _him_

The janitor hesitated before going back to Mike’s side. He sat on the bed, examining it. It wasn’t too big, sitting at the midway point between a baseball and a volleyball. There were small cuts all over it, leaking, and a massive gash on the front. It looked like it wrapped almost halfway around, cutting into the thickness of the sphere by a substantial amount.

“This is probably what’s making you throw up," Chris said almost nonchalantly. He examined it. “It looks pretty deep. What the hell is this from?”

Logan nibbled on his lip. “Is that was Scotty was talking about? About what didn't heal from the Bite?"

The teen took in a ragged breath. “I think so.”

“Jesus,” Chris breathed. “It’s massive. How the hell were you even conscious?” He reached for it.

Mike sputtered. “Don’t touch it!” he snapped.

“I wasn’t going to!” Chris snapped back. “I’m going to see if its giving off any heat.”

Heat was a kind word for what hit Chris’s hand. It was feverish, sickly. He made a face. “It’s pretty gross,” he said, pulling away.

Logan’s eyes widened. “Wait! Chris, put your hand back over it.”

Mike and Chris looked at him, confused. It took a second for Chris to obey, but he hovered his hand back over the cut. Logan gaped as tiny strands of black slithered from the lips of the cut, connecting. The wound pulsed a dark grey behind it.

“I think it’s trying to heal,” the manager said. He ran a hand through his hair. “How the hell is it doing that?”

“No clue.” Chris looked at Mike. “How does it feel?”

“Weird,” Mike said immediately.

“It’s like it’s sewing itself back together,” Logan murmured. He thought for a moment. “Try putting two hands over it.”

Chris brought up his other hand and spread his fingers. The strands seemed to strengthen a smidgen, the pulsing becoming a little deeper and brighter. The dark hazels widened as he watched through his fingers.

Logan suddenly snapped his fingers. “I knew it!” he crowed.

“Elaborate, Einstein,” Chris said, casting him a lazy glance.

“Remember that test I did?”

_“Chris, look!”_

_Chris peered over at the cups of black that Logan was playing with. “What? I’ve got to get back to watching Mike.”_

_Logan pointed. “Look at this. It’s just as a thought.”_

_One cup labeled ‘cold’ was pitch black, while the one labeled ‘hot’ had a glob of ink that was swiftly shrinking._

_Chris didn’t react. “I’m not following,” he said._

_“It stays the same in cold water, but it shrinks and disappears in hot water,” the blond explained. “Heat makes it go away.”_

_The janitor raised a brow. “It was all over me and Mike. How come it didn’t go away on us?”_

_“Because it was touching you.” Logan dipped a spoon into the cold cup and scooped up some ink. “I think that it doesn’t disappear when it touches someone’s body is because of their own soul reacting to it. This stuff and the other soul balances each other out.”_

_“I guess that makes sense,” Chris said. At least they had some idea of how this stuff worked. “So the reason it wasn’t coming off of me is because my soul was keeping it stable?”_

_“Exactly,” Logan chirped. He grinned. “We’ve figured it out!”_

_“Great. Now how do we stop Mike from leaking it?”_

_“Okay, we haven't figured out everything.”_

Chris nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I guess you really were right.”

“And I have another great theory to test!” Logan proclaimed.

“And that is?”

“Cuddling!”

Mike and Chris let out twin yelps of surprise. “What?!” they both exclaimed. Chris glared at him. “Where the hell did you get that idea?”

Logan wasn’t fazed by their reactions. “Think about it. If the soul’s in the chest, and close contact aids in healing, then it would make sense to be as close as possible. If you two are against each other, your souls would be pretty close, and Mike’s would heal faster. Ergo, stopping the leaks.”

“No one says ergo. No one.” Chris looked at Mike and sighed. “Would you be entirely opposed to this?”

The teen wasn’t going to lie to himself that he really did like it when he was being hugged or held, and Chris falling asleep on the couch with an arm around him earlier in the week had been very comforting, but was Chris actually considering. “Yeah?” he said, his voice meek.

Chris huffed. He could put aside any discomfort if it meant saving Mike. “If it keeps you alive, I’m all for it. Scoot over, kid.”

Mike was carefully moved by Chris instead of moving himself, his soul following him. The man settled next to him, moving an arm across Mike’s shoulders and pulling him close. So close to Chris’s chest, Mike could hear the strong heartbeat. Despite the fever, the touch felt nice. It made him feel safe, protected.

His soul suddenly flew back into his chest. Mike let out a wheeze like he had been punched in the gut and keeled over. Ink dribbled from his lips onto his lap. Chris and Logan hissed in sympathy.

“Fuuuck…” Mike groaned, his eyes squeezing shut.

Chris couldn’t help but give a quiet laugh. “Yeah, it looked bad.” He patted the small shoulder. “You’re fine.”

Droplets that had landed on the blankets had already disappeared. Chris noticed that Mike’s legs hadn’t been directly beneath them.

Then he caught Logan’s face. The guy was grinning like an idiot, his chocolate eyes practically sparkling.

“Logan, not a single camera comes into this room,” Chris growled threateningly.

The older man pouted. “Oh, you’re so stingy,” he complained. He turned on his heel and walked through the doorway. “Fine. Let me go downstairs and leave you to your cuddle-time." He peered around the frame. "And not come back with a camera to capture this adorable moment," he added before disappearing. Buddy followed him out.

Chris snorted softly. He looked down at Mike. The teen had settled against his shoulder and was already dozing, blue eyes dazed with sleep. Some ink still hung off his bottom lip, and Chris reached over the boy’s legs to grab the abandoned rag from earlier and wipe it off.

Mike’s mouth twitched. “Is this really going to work?” he asked.

“It’s all we’ve got,” Chris said. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t take too long. That looked really painful.”

“It is.” Mike looked up at best as he could through his thick hair. “Are you really going to sit here with me?”

“Yes, Mike, I think that’s been established.” The hazel eyes looked at him, were fond, his grin amused. “Or am I too much of a prick for you to believe that?”

The teen frowned softly. “No,” he answered. He wasn’t falling for the tough guy act anymore. “You’re a big softie.”

“I am not,” Chris retorted, though there was no fire behind his defense. “You know for a fact I hate everyone.”

“But not me.”

“You’re an exception. It’s those stupid kicked puppy eyes that make it hard for me to hate you. Makes me feel like _I_ kicked you.” _And I did at first._

Mike smiled lazily. “Softie,” he taunted quietly.

“Go to sleep, Mike.”

It didn't take long for him to drift. He fell asleep to the sound of Chris's strong heartbeat and to the scent of pine.

The smells of blood and cake came hours later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I already know how terrible I am to Mike, I was reminded constantly throughout the chapter, no one has to tell me. Please accept Mike and Chris cuddling.
> 
> I felt really confident in introducing Hannah after taking the advice from Sweet Dreams and Writing with Color, so I'll be giving Layla and Miss Lady a proper introduction when I have the time. Again, big thanks for the advice on that chapter, it was super appreciated and needed.
> 
> Also I had to look up what the part between the bicep and forearm was for the blood drawing and it's called the wagina. It's now the funniest word I've ever heard and I had to put down crease instead of that because I couldn't stop laughing and it would break the mood.


	30. On Speaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan doesn’t remember getting into his car and driving to the pizzeria, but something’s telling him that he should really make the call to one of inside doctors now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watching Dawko play Help Wanted and holy fuck that rabbit is creepy. Like ugh, those eyebrows. Points for the vest (which I would totally wear if Scott released it as merch), points off for literally everything else.
> 
> But anyways, I guess you can tell from the summary what’s going to happen. Enjoy :)

_Have you checked the animatronics?_

Logan blinked. He was parked in front of the pizzeria. The heat was just fading, his keys already in his pocket. The streetlamps were the only lights alive, a dull white washing over the car.

He didn’t remember driving here. In fact, he didn’t even remember going outside. Logan tried to think, bits and pieces coming back to him. He had been on the couch with Petunia, catching a short nap, and then…

_“J-just bear with me, boss.”_

The echoed voice had Logan jolting in his seat. “Scotty?” he blurted out, looking around the car wildly. The eagerness to see the former guard outweighed the fact that he had been possessed.

There was no answer, but Logan swore his shoulder felt colder than it should have.

He got out. The snow on the ground was mostly slush now, a disappointment to the girls and a relief for Logan. March was almost here, not too far away from now, and Logan just wanted the snow and slush to go away. Usually he enjoyed it, his inner child jumping for joy at the thought of snow, but the month had taken a toll on them both. He felt that the month had dragged on enough.

The past three days, more likely.

Chris’s presence didn’t seem to be doing much anymore. Mike had fallen into a constant state of delirium and distress hours after their discovery, and no amount of closeness could do anything. His temperature would fluctuate between unbearable fevers and a body-shaking cold. They had tried switching, Logan and Petunia taking turns and swapping with Chris, but nothing yielded results. Mike just wasn’t getting any better.

Hannah had gotten back to them with the blood tests the next day, telling them that something was wrong with samples and nothing could be conclusive. She said she would do more tests, but Logan knew it that it wouldn't do anything.

Logan had done everything he could think of with the samples of Mike’s soul – the boy was constantly throwing up more – but there was nothing. He had hit a dead end, his originally discovery apparently out the window. With each passing hour, the hopelessness dug itself further into him and everyone else. No one knew what was going to happen or what kind of line Mike was walking, but all Logan knew was that something needed to be done about the gash and fast.

The pizzeria was more silent than a winter graveyard. The main trio was onstage, blank-eyed and lifeless. The curtains to Pirate Cove were shut. It was two hours to midnight, but Logan couldn’t help but feel that creeping fear that the animatronics would come offstage and drag him to the backroom. He was here during the day, but he had no idea if the animatronics would mistake him for an endoskeleton or not.

What the hell was he doing here? Why the hell did Scotty bring him here?

_“Call Dylan.”_

Logan found himself dialing Dylan.

Dylan picked up on the first ring, punctual as he was. “Hello?”

“Hey, Dylan. Sorry for interrupting your night, I just had a quick question for you. You didn’t find anything weird in the animatronics, did you?” A pause. “Just anything out of the ordinary.”

Logan wondered if he had interrupted dinner after hearing Dylan take a drink. “No, nothin’.”

“Nothing?” Logan echoed. Not exactly the answer he wanted, but at least he got one. “I… Okay.”

“Everythin’ okay, boss?”

“Yeah… Yeah, just a little incident with the night guard,” the blond said carefully, rubbing his face. “He, uh, got pretty sick on shift. I was just wondering if there was anything on the animatronics that could have gotten him sick. You know, like some old dust or something.”

“Well, there was nothin’ I could find,” Dylan said. He sounded apologetic. “Give him my get well wish, yeah?”

God, why was it so hot all of a sudden? “Sure. Thank you, Dylan. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

“You too, boss.”

The moment Dylan hung up, Logan felt compelled to dial another number. His fingers were slippery with sweat, and he set the phone down on the table to wipe his hands on his pants. Logan reached over and put it on speaker. It was safer to keep it on the table than in his hands.

The phone picked up. “Hello?” A woman’s voice came through.

“Hey, Kate,” he greeted. “I know you just got in, but I need your help.”

He could hear her swivel chair bump into her desk. “Alright. What do you need?”

Logan looked at the entrance, like someone would walk in at any moment. “Can you pull up the new night guard’s file? I mean, he isn’t _new_ , but…”

“Sure thing, Logan. What’s his name?”

Why would she ask that? “You already know his name.”

“Humor me.”

“Michael Schmidt,” he answered, exasperated.

“I really wish that was a joke.” There was the sound of a file cabinet opening, the faint flipping of pages. “Here he is,” Kate announced. She then snorted softly. “Right, Carol was told to merge his file from ’87 and his position. Lucky me; no need to hunt it down.”

“When did they have her do that?” Logan asked, curious.

“Almost immediately after you sent his interview to them. You know how the company was already walking on eggshells? After Hannah called and told them about the house call, they’re on extra edge now. Getting nearly choked out by Freddy, cut by Foxy after already being attacked by it as a child, and now suddenly getting sick during his shift? That kid’s giving them heart attacks.”

“Good,” the manager said, a snip in his voice. “It’s nice to see the shoe on the other foot. If only Mike realized how much he actually scares them.”

“As much as I hate being under the company’s shoe, the pay’s good. Just keep him from making any hasty decisions, okay?” Kate’s chair squeaked through the phone. “Michael Schmidt, seventeen years-old…” She stopped. “Jesus, he’s just seventeen. The Bite was nine years ago.”

“It feels like it’s been longer, if you ask me.” Logan absently played with a party hat.

A pause. Then a snicker. “Aww, he’s only 5’4? That’s adorable. How different is he from his picture attached to the file? It’s nine years old.”

Logan blinked. “Uh, I don’t know.” He realized that he hadn’t seen _any_ pictures of Mike, not even in the paper. “He’s only seventeen, so I wouldn’t say too different.”

“Hannah told me he looked terrible when she went on the house call.”

“Well, obviously.” The soft browns rolled a bit. “And that’s why I’m asking you to go through his file. Keep going.” He paused. “He’s adorable,” he added.

“I want proof. He needs a picture for his file anyway.” Some more paper rustling. “Up to date on most of his shots, needs stitches out from an animatronic-caused injury, evidence of self-harm, evidence of abuse…” She stopped again. “How’s the therapist hunting going?”

“Not too bad,” Logan admitted. “We’ve narrowed it down to four. One man and three women.” Chris mentioning Mike’s mother’s behavior towards his powers had definitely saved Tim a spot.

“Who do you have?”

“Tim Button, Amanda Yoo, Tanya Wilson, and Jane Gordon.”

“I’d go with Amanda,” Kate told him. “I mean, she’s my friend, but she really is the best of the best. Give her a call and interview her. If not her, then go with either Tim or Tanya. Jane’s kind of a bitch."

Logan’s lip quirked upward a bit. “Okay. Thanks for the advice.” He stopped pacing for a second to catch his breath. “What else is on his file?”

“Oh, you know, just a copy of his birth records. Did you know that he was born a month early and that the doctor put down a note that said to talk to his mom?”

Logan felt something squeeze at his heart. “No…” He looked at the phone like Kate was standing in front of him. “What did the doctor say?”

“No clue,” Kate answered. “The company just got a copy of the note from his original file. His ’87 file is an exact replica of his hospital records, but it’s not like they can headhunt the doctor and ask questions about a baby he delivered seventeen years ago. If the company could bribe him they would have already done it, so that says something about the guy’s record.”

“What’s his name?” Logan asked. That was another call to make.

“Ivan Marsh. I’ll get you all his info in a bit. Do you want a copy of Mike’s records here?”

“That would be great.” Logan chewed the inside of his cheek. “Is the information about the Bite in there? Like his x-rays and stuff?”

“Yeah, it’s all here. It’s really old, though.” Kate hissed. “Jeez, just looking at the damage makes me queasy. Can you imagine something with the bite power of a crocodile chomping down on your skull? It’s a damn miracle that he survived and that he didn’t become a vegetable.”

Logan realized that he never actually saw those pictures. “How bad was the damage?” he asked.

“Pretty bad. His skull penetrated the front and back of his brain when he was bit and his frontal lobe got absolutely smashed. I’m amazed that he’s even functioning. I’ve seen a lot of brain injuries in my life, but the Bite has got to be in my top five nastiest ones. I’d put it at three.”

Logan didn’t want to know what had taken the first and second slots.

“Ooh, look at this.” Kate sounded like a teenager finding booze in her parents’ room. “He had a bunch of doctors working on him, but I actually recognize one of them by name. Dr. Afton worked on Mike.”

“Dr. Afton?” the blond echoed. That name didn’t ring a bell.

“William Afton? You know, one of the best surgeons on the face of the earth? Best known for his brain surgeries?” She let out a reminiscent sigh. “I learned about him in college, but they taught us more about him during inside training because of the Bite, and damn is he good at is job! I’d love to shake his hand, Logan, you have no idea how much us doctors idolize him.”

“Huh,” Logan said. That was interesting and all, and Logan would also like to shake his hand for having a part in saving Mike’s life, but hearing about a hotshot doctor wasn’t what he was calling Kate for. “So is there anything in his file about his family? Illnesses and such?”

Kate huffed. “Party pooper.” More paper shuffling. “Not too much. There’s stuff down on his dad’s side and almost nothing on his mom.”

Yet another dead end with Mike’s mother. “What’s on the father’s side?” Associating that word with an abusive monster left a sour taste in Logan’s mouth.

“Depression, a cancer here and there, yada yada yada.” Kate sounded bored. “Standard stuff honestly. I was expecting more from an abusive asshole. Mostly for Mike’s sake, you know? I’d be keeping my fingers crossed for the bastard to get slammed with something fatal.”

“Our fingers are crossed and twisted,” Logan said, ignoring Kate’s nonchalant attitude.

“Quick question: why did you call again?”

“I thought maybe there was something in the family that could be causing him being so sick.” _Like a supernatural ailment._ “No mysterious deaths or anything?”

“I’m not a crypt keeper, Logan.” A small pause. “How is he? Doing any better?”

“No,” he answered, rubbing his face. “If anything, he’s been getting worse. We’ve been debating on bringing him in. I don’t want to stress him out any more, but there’s nothing else we can think of.”

“Hannah told me what you guys said. If I was brought into the hospital at eight for having my head split in half and ogled at by doctors for months I’d be pretty reluctant to step into one, too.”

Oh god, was that where it stemmed from? How could he have not realized that? Mike, just a little child, chained to a hospital bed for months with an abusive family looming over his shoulder and doctors prodding at him at every minute. No wonder Mike was so terrified of being brought in, even if it was for an entirely different reason.

“There wasn’t anything Hannah missed, right? She said the visit was cut a little short. Did he hit his head or anything?”

The dirt on the back of Mike’s head came back to Logan. “There was some dirt on the back of his head,” he answered. “But it was actual dirt. There’s no way the floor was that filthy in the office, Chris would never leave the building like that.”

“Maybe he rolled around or something, I don’t know. He could have had a seizure. Lethargy, sore body, amnesia; sounds like a seizure from how you described it to Hannah.”

A seizure? Logan felt his stomach twist at the memory of Mike fainting in the park, nose bleeding and body quivered. “Do you think it’s something with his brain? With the damage from ’87…” The damage to the soul was affecting the rest of Mike's body, so...

“It might be. He’s been stressed for a good few weeks and he’s got some pretty substantial brain damage. Has he been getting any more nosebleeds?”

They’ve had to change the sheets at least twice every day. “Yeah. They’re pretty heavy.”

There was the sound of Kate’s fingers against a keyboard. “Okay. What are his symptoms?”

Logan dug out a folded piece of paper in his back pocket. He had written everything down. “Nosebleeds, vomiting, nausea, lack of appetite, fever, hallucinations…”

“He’s hallucinating? How long has that been going on?”

“Shortly after Chris found him,” Logan said. “They’ve been very…vivid.”

_Logan practically kicked down the door to the guest room seconds after he had heard the screaming. Chris was by Mike’s bed, holding the thrashing teen as tightly as he could._

_“Settle, Mike, settle!” Chris commanded. There were long lines from Mike’s nails running down his arms._

_“He's going to kill me," Mike gasped. His eyes were wild and unseeing, his bright cheeks damp with tears and sweat._

_“No one’s going to kill you, Mike,” Chris tried to soothe. It was next to useless to try and communicate with the boy in this state. “It’s not real, okay? You’re hallucinating.”_

_“H-hide, I need to hide!” Mike’s struggles became worse, his head knocking into Chris’s chin. “I don’t want to die.”_

_Logan couldn’t tell what Chris looked more pained about. Chris didn’t let go despite the damage Mike was doing. “No one’s going to hurt you, kiddo, just calm down. Focus on me, okay? Just focus on me and my voice.”_

_Mike started to sob. “Chris, he’s going kill me!”_

_Chris just held Mike tighter. There was nothing else he could do. “Shh…”_

_Logan backed out of the room and shut the door, stomach rolling and throat tight. It would take at least ten minutes for the fit to die down, but the reprieve would end just as quickly. The fevers brought the worst hallucinations, but the chilling cold that froze over Mike brought hours of nonstop crying. No screaming, no babbling. Just...crying._

_And they couldn’t do anything about it._

_“Daddy?” Logan whipped around to see Rosie standing by her door, her arms wrapped tightly around Arthur the Alligator, her favorite plush. Caitlyn must still be asleep. “Why’s Mike screaming?”_

_Logan swallowed. He went over and dropped onto his knees in front of her. “Mike’s having very bad nightmares,” he said. “They’re very scary, so that’s why he’s screaming.”_

_“Like the one time I had a nightmare because of that movie Wanda’s babysitter played for us?”_

_Wanda’s babysitter was promptly fired for playing Nightmare on Elm Street for a group of kids under 8. Logan had been very reluctant in holding Petunia back from tearing the teenager apart when they were called to pick Rosie up. “Exactly like that.”_

_Only Logan didn’t believe Mike was having nightmares about Freddy Kruger cutting open stuffed animals._

“The scans are pretty old, and he hasn’t had an x-ray in nine years. I think it would be best if he got another one.”

“I think so, too.” Logan couldn’t stop going over the list. “When should I bring him in?”

“Can you do tonight? With how things sound, I’m worried it could be something serious.”

Logan glanced at his watch. “How about thirty minutes?”

“I’ll tell them to get a room ready. See you then.”

Silence. The heat of the room had suddenly gone away, and Logan’s hands _finally_ stopped sweating.

His phone rang again a minute later. Petunia’s name came up on screen. The man grabbed it, his skin dry, and took it off speaker.

“Hey, doll,” Logan greeted, cheer devoid in his voice. “Everything okay?”

“Mike just fell asleep in the middle of a fit,” Petunia said. “He was crying, but Chris said that he just…stopped, then fell asleep. I think the sickness is starting to break.”

Hope smoothed parts of Logan’s expression. “That’s great!” he crowed. “But we still need to bring him to the hospital. Kate’s getting a brain scan ready. She doesn’t know about the damage to his soul, but she wants to check his brain for anything.”

He could almost hear her nod. “Okay. I’ll get Chris to take him.”

“Are the girls okay?” Logan asked. They had been mostly staying at the houses of friends since Mike fell ill, but they were home now.

“They’re worried. I had to tell them again that Mike wasn’t dying and that he was just very sick.” She sighed. “Caitlyn snuck in during the latest fit. I sent her to her room, but I’m pretty sure she doesn’t believe that Mike’s just sick.”

Logan bit his lip. Caitlyn had her mother’s hunt for the truth, but sometimes it was problematic. “If he stopped mid-fit and fell asleep, then I’m pretty sure he’s not going to die.”

A small pause. “…I honestly believed that he was going to die yesterday,” Petunia confessed. “How horrible is that? He survives four malfunctioning animatronics only to die by an awful illness.”

The universe was certainly having a field day kicking Mike around. “He’s going to be fine,” Logan said, a firmness coating his voice. “We’ll figure out how to fix the gash.” _We have to._

The woman let out a small sound. “I hope so.” Usually she was the more hopeful one, but the days had taken a toll on her as well.

Logan looked around the room. The animatronics were still stiff and empty-eyed. “Did I do anything weird before I left?” he asked.

Petunia paused. The question must have surprised her. “You mean besides leaving out of nowhere without a word? No.”

Logan grimaced at the slight bitterness in her tone. “I don’t mean to point fingers, doll, but I have a feeling that Scotty possessed me and had me drive over.”

“Scotty?” Petunia gasped. “Oh my god. Is he there? Did you see him?”

“No.” He knew that she missed Scotty as much as he did. With them and Chris, they had been some of the closest friends. Losing Scotty had ripped a hole in their life and had Chris putting up his walls again.

“There had to have been a reason why he brought you there,” Petunia said. She sounded giddy.

“Yeah. I just wish I knew.” Couldn’t Scotty have dropped a hint or something? “I’ll be home in a few minutes. Whatever he brought me here for, I have no clue.”

“Just hurry, okay?” She sounded almost scared. "I can't stand seeing Mike in pain anymore. I hope the damage hasn't done anything serious."

“Me, too." God, he hoped so. "See you soon, doll. Love you.”

“Love you t–.”

Logan jumped at the sudden drop. He brought back his phone to find the screen had gone black. He didn’t remember his phone battery being so low. He pocketed it with a small huff and jogged out of the room, making record time in getting out of the building and locking the doors.

He plopped into the driver’s seat, keys in hand. He paused, looking at the pizzeria doors, frowning. “What _did_ you bring me here, Scotty?”

Again, the spirit didn’t verbally answer, but there was a cold outline pressing down on his shoulder, like someone was trying to hurry him along.

“Okay, okay,” he muttered, starting up the car. “You’re a really pushy ghost, you know?”

He pulled out of the parking lot quickly, fingers crossed that he wouldn’t get pulled over for speeding.

Bonnie threw down his guitar and whipped his head over to Freddy – he looked dazed – with dark eyes. “I told you!” he screeched, voice cracking.

There was a loud clank, someone falling to their knees, and then Foxy was screaming.

**_"Mikey!"_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well… Bonnie did get to say “I told you so.”
> 
> Fun fact: Originally the animatronics were going to learn Mike’s identity from a group of employees gossiping as they were closing for the night. That was before I rewrote the last few chapters and ending.
> 
> Next chapter’s going to be a little delayed. The draft’s already pretty long even in pieces and I graduate high school this week, so I’ll be kept after for a few hours after I’m usually out for grad practice. I’ll try and get the first half out on Sunday as a preview, but that might not be possible so no promises there. Either way, I appreciate everyone’s patience in advance.
> 
> Also: next chapter is not the end! As of now, there are now 4 chapters left!


	31. The Truth (1/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long week of recovering, Mike finally gains enough energy to get out of bed and do the stupidest thing possible. His stupid idea, however, was probably the best decision he would ever make in the long-run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me three days earlier: **excited to graduate**
> 
> A horrific cold three days earlier: **"I'm about to end this man's whole career."**
> 
> So yeah, of course I'm sick. The second half of the chapter is going to be delayed a little longer, but I'm hoping to get it out this week. Just bear with me everyone, I'm just as eager as you.
> 
> For now, enjoy the first half of the chapter and Mike making fairly bad decisions.

It was raining, water droplets tapping against the window gently. The TV could barely be heard through the floor. Usually Mike would fall asleep to them, but he couldn’t get comfortable under the soft and fresh blankets. Instead he just stared at the wall, laying on his side and thinking.

The worst of the sickness had finally passed after a day, his symptoms disappearing after two, but the pain in his chest didn’t go away. It was a constant throb, like a cut that kept bleeding. The wound obviously hadn’t healed, though whatever had been giving him nightmares had finally gone away. Mike still couldn’t entirely remember what happened that night, and he wasn’t really sure he wanted to. All he remembered was yelling and being pulled under, Scotty and the voice of the suit being the last things he heard.

He still wasn’t sure if he could trust golden bear, even though Scotty obviously did. He didn't hear or dream of them for the entire week, though sometimes the room did become a little colder for a while.

Mike didn’t remember the hospital visit. He didn’t even remember being carried out of bed. He had been asleep nearly the entire time, the exhaustion of whatever had attacked his body taking over. He faintly recalled being woken up for a checkup, the rumbling sound of a machine barely rousing him, and then waking up on his own as he was being set into the car. Chris had been saying something about how his brain was fine enough for them to release him, that Mike had been there for a day being looked at, but the teen had slipped back into sleep before more could be said.

He remained in bed for an entire week, catching up on dreamless sleep and missed meals. It had been a blur for him, nothing really catching. He faintly remembered Logan helping him bathe every other day – his cheeks still burned at the memory – and someone helping him eat. His muscles had been jelly for days. There were moments he’d wake up with Buddy next to him or over his legs. Chris was usually the one there, but sometimes Logan or Petunia would be next to him instead. He even remembered Rosie slumped over his belly and Caitlyn clinging to his arm. Usually everyone would be asleep, but sometimes there would be a hand carding through his hair and quiet humming.

Mike was recovering, just very slowly.

The teen sat up slowly. He had regained some strength and most of the soreness had gone away, but he was still very tired. Mike slipped out of bed quietly, careful of making any noise. The girls were in bed and everyone else was downstairs, and Mike didn’t want someone coming up and giving him a small scolding about how he needed his rest.

Staying in bed for a week was incredibly mind-numbing and infuriating even when you were passed out most of the time.

Mike didn’t realize he was down the hall and in front of Logan’s office until he heard Chris’s quieted voice by the stairs, blinking him back from his daze. There were drawings and notes all over the door, Petunia’s handwriting and the girls’ childish drawings jumping out at him. It was colorful, cute, and disarming. The door probably wasn’t even locked.

It wasn’t locked. Not like Mike would let a door stop him from the pulling sensation in his chest.

Logan’s home office was just as messy as his work office. Papers were strewn about over a large wooden desk, two trash bins filled to the brim. A computer and lamp sat on the desk, dark. There was a printer to the left of the computer, silent. Pictures of the family dotted the wall, a painting of a bright red petunia up with them. Petunia’s initials and a heart were nestled in the bottom left. Some frames held pictures from the kids, Rosie's plush alligator being in one frame and Caitlyn's plush giraffe being in another other.

There were three clear cups on Logan’s desk, two of them labeled and one filled with the ink. The one labeled ‘hot’ had an oven mitt next to it and had water that was clear as day. The one labeled ‘cold’ was filled with ink. The third one had globs of ink sunken to the bottom. Around the cups were newspaper articles, 1987 labeling all of them. Pictures of Foxy’s fangs and mouth, all at different angles and the amount of them with blood and a clean shot split down the middle. A folder with its label reading ‘Michael Schmidt – 1987 Victim, 1997 Guard’ had some papers and picture peeking out.

Very grotesque pictures.

Mike just stared.

The floorboard creaking under the carpet had Mike jolting from his daze. He looked back to see Logan in the doorway.

Logan startled and blinked owlishly, the chocolate eyes wide. “You’re really quiet, sport. I didn’t even hear you get up.”

Mike didn’t say anything. He was still reeling from what he had just been looking at.

Logan seemed to understand. “I didn’t mean to leave these out,” he said, an apology in his voice. He walked over and grabbed a stack of papers, straightening them. “I really need to start organizing.”

“Sorry I came in here,” Mike murmured, bypassing the small talk.

“It’s okay, Mike,” Logan said. He gave the boy a small pat on the head. “I’m not upset, and honestly you deserve to know about it. I was going to bring it up later, but you’re still recovering and I didn’t want to scare you.”

Mike rubbed his eyes. “Okay.”

Logan set down the papers in hand and settled a hand on Mike’s shoulder. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to fall over.”

“Feel like it,” the teen mumbled. The blue eyes slid back to the cups. “Why do you have those?”

Right. That conversation was something Logan had been actually practicing for, but now he had no clue what to say without scaring Mike. “Well,” he began, clearing his throat, “I was doing some tests with it to see how it worked. I was hoping we’d get on answers on how to fix that big gash on your soul.”

That made sense. Mike still couldn’t help the slight feeling of being creeped out despite the practical reason. “And…?”

The blond sighed. “Nothing.” Mike noted the darkening crescents and slight stubble on Logan’s face. “All I’ve got is that the stuff doesn’t like heat and that it stays when it’s in something cold or on someone.”

Mike didn’t know what made him ask, “Have you tried hitting it?”

Logan looked sick at the suggestion. “Absolutely not. I don’t want to risk hurting you.”

“But I don’t feel it when you’re messing with it,” the teen said. He did, however, feel a little relieved that Logan hadn’t done anything like that.

“Me touching it verses me hitting it with something are two different things. I’ll stick to handling it carefully until we figure out what to do.”

Mike looked at the folder with his name. “Where’d you get that?” he asked.

Logan followed his line of sight. He sighed, guilty. “The hospital,” he admitted. “The company keeps tabs on everyone. Past, present, future; everything’s found and logged. The company’s…” He paused, like he was rethinking what he should say. “Let’s just say they’re keen on keeping tabs on you.”

“Because of the Bite.” It was more a statement than a question.

“Yeah.” Logan looked at him, frowning. “Again, sorry for not telling you earlier, Mike.”

“It’s okay,” Mike said, and he was being truthful. Logan was just trying to help. He rubbed his eyes. “Really.”

The blond noticed the harsh rubbing. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

Back in the bedroom, Mike flopped onto the bed and just barely managed to drag himself the whole way on. Just walking had him exhausted. Logan pulled the blankets over Mike and tucked them above the small shoulders. The teen let out a tired sigh and sank into his pillow.

 _At least he isn’t in pain._ “Do you need anything?” Logan asked.

A glass of water and a recently emptied plate was still on the nightstand. “No,” Mike said. “I’m fine.”

“Okay. Petunia and I are turning in for the night, but we’re right down the hall if you need anything.” He gave a knowing smile. “We’ll wake up if you call. Trust me, after two daughters we’re more than battle ready.”

“Where’s Chris?” Mike asked.

“Downstairs on the couch with Buddy.” Logan’s face then shifted into wonder. “Mike, do you know how Chris cut his hand?”

The bandage around Chris’s hand. Mike had nearly forgotten all about it. “No.”

Logan sighed. “Yeah, I figured. He told us he cut it on some glass, but Petunia isn’t buying it, and I don’t buy it when she doesn’t either.”

Something nipped at Mike’s heart. “Did he do it on purpose?” he blurted quietly.

“I don’t think so,” Logan said. “But if he did, I’m pretty sure he did it to know why… Why you do it.”

Mike felt like he had swallowed an ice cube whole. He hadn’t done anything to himself in over two weeks, one of the longest times he had gone without taking anything to his skin. A part of him felt proud that he wasn’t doing anything, that he was doing so well that he was trusted enough to help clean the silverware after dinner, but the other felt furious, like everyone was physically restraining him and keeping him from what he needed to do. Just the reminder had Mike’s skin crawling.

“But I think it was just a bad accident,” Logan quickly added, seeing the distress on Mike’s face. “I think he’s embarrassed since he’s the janitor, you know? He doesn’t make mistakes like that.”

But Mike couldn’t get that thought out of his head. “Yeah,” he halfheartedly agreed.

Logan put on a warm smile and smoothed down the black locks of hair. “Goodnight, Mike.”

“Night,” Mike murmured. He took comfort in Logan's gentle pat.

Then Logan was gone. The door was left open just enough to let the light of the hallway peek through. Petunia’s voice floated up from the stairs as she said goodnight to Chris.

It didn’t take Mike long to fall asleep.

_It felt like something was pulling at his soul, like a child trying to get their mother’s attention. He knew that feeling all too well. Mike could feel the longing and the guilt that came with it. It just kept pulling at him, a rope wrapped around him and bringing him in._

_Except the rope was in tatters._

_Mike realized he was touching exactly that, a white-laced black rope leading into the darkness. It was coming from his chest, where his soul was nestled, and led to nowhere but forward. He brought hesitant fingers around some of the frayed parts, his hands jerking back and a pained whine escaping him at the burning sensation that came from it. The rush emotions that ran up his veins made him dizzy and teary-eyed._

_But he heard music, very familiar music, and he could smell pizza. The pizzeria was on the other end._

_He took only a few steps forward before the black world changed. Mike was in the Cove. He could smell the thick dust and feel the crushing weight of the air. He felt like he was floating._

_Foxy was in front of him. He was on his side curled up like a dog. He looked distressed even in his sleep, his fabric lips pulled back in a toothy grimace and his body twitching. The rope led straight through his torn chest. Mike could see a glimpse of black through the tattered fabric and hanging wires._

_“Foxy?” escaped Mike’s mouth._

_The sunny eyes flew open and locked onto him within a heartbeat. “Mikey?”_

Mike jerked up from bed, silent and wide-eyed. He hadn’t physically left the room, but the fluttering feeling in his chest told him that his soul had.

He didn't need a clock to know that it was nearly midnight.

He needed to go. He needed to get to the pizzeria _now_. He needed answers _now_. He needed to see Foxy. Mike wasted no time in throwing off the covers and getting out of bed. He needed his keys before he could go anywhere.

Sneaking into the hallway felt like breaking into a high security prison. Logan’s words echoed in his head, feeling far too loud as Mike slowly made his way down the hall. It was one thing to be caught going to the bathroom, it was another to be caught going down the stairs. Logan or Petunia would think he was hungry. There was no way they’d let him leave the house if they knew he was grabbing his pizzeria keys.

He could see the small gleam of his keys on the kitchen counter halfway down the steps, but his mental leap of joy was stopped when he saw that Chris’s were as well, reminding him that the man was in the living room. Mike was careful on his way across the dining room, peering in to see if Chris was still sleeping.

Chris was sleeping on the couch. A blanket was sliding off of him, his right arm and leg hanging off the couch. He was wearing more casual clothes, a plain green shirt with some sweatpants. Mike realized that this was the first time he was – coherently – seeing Chris wear something other than jeans. It was weird. It was even weirder than seeing him without his boots, and Chris never wore them past the doormat. Buddy was in his dog-bed on the couch’s one end sleeping like a puppy.

Mike didn’t remember ever hearing Chris’s truck start up when he was awake or the man was gone, and he had a strong feeling that the janitor hadn’t left for his own apartment in a while. It only drove the knife in further, because he knew Chris was staying for him.

Were the answers he was looking for worth more than leaving behind this? He didn’t know.

The teen snuck into the kitchen. Mike carefully took Chris’s keys and put them in the silverware drawer. It would keep him searching and buy Mike some more time if he woke up.

One his way back across the dining room, Mike stopped. It was risky, but… The teen turned and faced the living room, taking in a quiet breath. His temperature began to shift. He lifted his hand and fanned out his fingers, gritting his teeth to conjure some power to his palm. It slid down his veins like hot glue, seeping through his skin and slowly growing outwards towards Chris.

It hurt like absolute hell. Mike felt like he was going to have a heart attack.

The line managed to attach itself to the blanket, and Mike sluggishly pulled it back over Chris’s body. It wasn’t fully on, but it was covering enough where Chris wouldn’t get cold. Mike sucked in a shuddering breath and pulled his line back. The moment his soul realized it was retracting a piece of itself, the line retracted so fast that Mike actually recoiled with a tiny cry when it hit his palm. He gripped his wrist and leaned against the doorway, taking in quiet, ragged breaths to control the pain.

This was why he needed answers.

After most of the pain had passed, Mike straightened and flexed his hand. It felt sore, but nothing he couldn’t handle. The teen turned to make his way back to the stairs.

“Mike?” The teen froze and hesitantly turned his head. Chris was looking at him with bleary hazel eyes. “What are you doing up?”

The raven-head licked his lips nervously. “Just getting a snack,” he murmured, the lie coming out rough.

Not rough enough to a tired Chris. “Could have said something,” he muttered. He rubbed his face. “You feeling okay? You look pale.”

 _Go back to sleep!_ “I’m always pale,” Mike retorted quietly. He couldn’t risk waking anyone. “I’m fine.”

“If you say so.” Chris lifted his leg and arm and got them back on the sofa. He turned on his side and shut his eyes. “Take it easy, kiddo.”

Mike painfully noted that kiddo was becoming more common than kid.

There was a pencil and a notepad in the nightstand. Mike scribbled down his excuse on a sheet that wasn't covered in children's drawings. He knew that someone was going to check on him later regardless if he wanted them to or not, and if he wrote down that he had gone to the pizzeria then they would be there in a heartbeat, so he needed something to keep them busy. It was a measly excuse, but Mike just hoped it would be believable.

Chris’s keys in the drawer and the rope out the window, however, may be what made it farfetched.

He tied the blankets together. He could make the rest of the drop if it wasn’t long enough, he had done it before. Mike secured the last knot with a final tug, then looped it around the bottom of the bedpost. He went over to the window with the rest of the rope in hand, unlocking it as quietly as he could before shoving it open.

The rain smelled beautiful.

It was a painfully familiar scenario.

_Sir was passed out in bed, fast asleep from the alcohol and hours of raging at his son. Mike had the faintest urge to grab a pillow or a cord and suffocate the man to death, but he knew he couldn’t go through with it. As much as he feared and hated Sir, he owed the man everything for still living in the house._

_Mike had everything he needed. He had the pictures of his bruises – he couldn’t bear to look at them because of his hideous scars – and some food he had bravely taken from the cupboard. He couldn’t take his old plush toys from the pizzeria, the things he wanted the most. They were torn to pieces and the bag they were in would take up room, so he stashed them under a loose floorboard in his closet. Hopefully Sir wouldn’t find them and throw them away._

_He had tied his makeshift rope around some cinderblocks he had dragged from the junkyard. Hiding them from Sir’s sight hadn’t been easy, but at least the man never came into his room. Mike was light enough where only a few were enough. He wished he could go through the front, but Sir had a special lock and Mike had no idea where the key was. The windows downstairs were nailed shut, so his window was the only option._

_Mike swallowed, grabbed makeshift rope and shifted his backpack, and began to make his way down._

_The moment his feet hit the ground he beelined to the shed. He ran to the old thing – ignoring the slight mound next to it – and dragged a small ladder he had found inside in the junkyard from behind it. Mike shoved it against the tall wooden fence hurriedly, looking over his shoulder with wild blue eyes in fear that Sir was coming. The man wasn't there. The teen clambered up the rungs and leapt the small distance. The sharp edges of the fence dug into his ribs, but he continued to flail and scramble until he was over and hitting the ground with a painful thud._

_Then he was on his feet and running, his shoes slapping against the small puddles loudly. He had escaped._

Only this time he wasn’t escaping a cruel and evil man. He was leaving a _family_ that actually cared for him.

His throat was tight. Mike didn’t want to hurt anyone, Chris and the family, but he needed answers from the source. The only way to get them was to risk his life, and as much as Mike didn’t want to go alone, he couldn’t risk the lives of the people who cared for him. It ripped him apart to do this, to lie on his note and to risk everything he’s been given, but he needed answers.

Mike swallowed, grabbed the makeshift rope, and began making his way down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second half will be out soon. Thank you for your patience in advance!


	32. The Truth (2/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After three weeks of being hunted like a wounded bird and another balancing on a sickness that Foxy caused, Mike confronts the animatronics. It's time for a talk. A very emotional and soul-tugging talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg, I'm reading everyone's comments and just AAAAAAAA you guys are so sweet and amazing ;U; I'm so happy to see everyone enjoying the story. Sorry if I haven't responded, I get very distracted and then I don't know what to say in response. I will spend forever just thinking on a response to one comment. But I just want you guys to know I appreciate all your comments and everything you say. Thank you so much for loving and supporting this story, and thank you for being patient for this!
> 
> But we've waited long enough. It's time.

The stop at the apartment hadn’t taken long. Mike had changed into a measly sweater and gotten a pair of old shoes before he slipped the second note under Miss Lady’s door. She hadn’t answered when he knocked, but he had heard her laughing and talking with multiple people; her friends at her work and maybe some of her dealers. Mike didn’t persist in getting her attention. Hopefully she’d find the note and give it to whoever came for him like it said to do. He had a feeling it would be Chris.

He had to stop frequently, his breath running short and chest aching. Cuddling and resting wasn’t cutting it with healing the wound. Mike just hoped the animatronics had answers; if they didn’t kill him. Despite the shrunken urge in the back of his mind to just let himself be taken and die where his friends had, he focused on getting answers. Death, while still on his mind, wasn’t something Mike was wanting right now. He wanted answers. He wanted to know why the animatronics were out for his blood. He wanted to go back home and burrow under the covers. He wanted to go home.

Mike couldn’t remember wanting so much, having always settled for what the world threw at him.

The pizzeria was dark and the parking lot was empty. Mike knew he didn’t have much time before midnight. It was like a sixth sense now after being on the edge of death for three weeks. He stopped at the pizzeria doors to catch his breath, panting from the pain in his chest. Once it stopped and he could breathe again, he shoved the key in the lock and turned it.

Silent as a grave, but not for long.

His shoes sounded incredibly loud against the tile floor. Mike moved as quietly as he could, but it would be futile anyway. His last resort was to run to the office and barricade himself inside in case the animatronics were still aggressive. He’d shout his questions through the doors. He slipped into the main room, his eyes going to the stage.

Bonnie was gone, but it wasn’t midnight. Freddy and Chica were still onstage.

Mike had half the mind to go check out the backroom, but he heard nothing coming from it. He hesitantly peered down the east hall. When he saw nothing he moved to the west. Still no one, though he did hear a faint thumping sound, like someone was punching a pillow or a towel. Mike frowned, confused. Bonnie was in the closet before midnight presumably punching something, but why? Was he imagining that it was Mike, or was he angry at someone else? The yelling from last Friday echoed faintly in his head, Mike glancing at the Cove. Were they fighting? Mike couldn’t think of any other reason of why Bonnie would be off the stage early.

Bonnie was probably the one he should be going to. The rabbit had gotten more than enough times to kill him but hadn’t taken them. Bonnie seemed to be the least likely to kill him. Maybe Bonnie was actually on his side now, or at least neutral in the matter.

But Foxy’s reaction earlier… Mike took in a quiet breath and turned towards the Cove. No, this was between him and Foxy. First he’d get his answers regarding the Bite and just what the hell Foxy had done to him, then he’d – inevitably – have to face the others. He didn’t know what that face-off was going to consist of, but for now this was between the two of them.

The tightening pain in his chest steeled his choice.

The smell of dust was just as strong as before. The Cove was dark, but not empty. Mike looked around, his heart cracking at the sight of the once happy and bright room in such a decrepit state. The paint on the walls was chipping, but there were also slashes through what was left. Mike absently grasped his left arm. There were boxes stacked everywhere, the Cove seemingly an extended storage room, and the props were gone. The only thing left was the pirate ship in the corner, haunted and abandoned.

Foxy wasn’t where Mike had last seen him, but he was still in the room.

Mike slipped inside. It was so dark even with the faint light coming from the main room, but it was like instinct had taken over. Even with the props and lights gone, Mike knew where to step. He remembered how big the room was, where everything used to be. Even with his horrific memory and damaged brain, he still _remembered_. The terror of the dark was no longer his mind’s priority, though it slithered around his throat and remained ready to tighten.

The teen sat down on the other side of a small wall boxes, legs weak. His chest was already starting to ache again, his breath shortening. “I know you’re there,” Mike found himself saying. He _knew_ Foxy was behind the boxes. “Are you hiding from me now?”

No answer. Mike hadn’t been expecting one. He had expected to get a hook in his throat or another bite to the head.

“I thought we were friends,” came from Mike’s mouth before he could stop it. His voice was loud to his ears despite it being so hushed. “I don’t know what I did to make you hate me so much. You used to be so nice to me. You were always there for me, and then…” His throat tightened. “Then you nearly killed me. I think you’re killing me now. Whatever you did made it worse, and you did it on purpose.”

His soul tightened again. Mike winced. “Can’t you just talk to me?” he hissed through the soul’s tremors, eyes glassy. “Just tell me what I did wrong. What did I do wrong? Just tell me what I did and I’ll fix it. Just tell me.”

Nothing.

“Please.” Mike sniffled. “What did I do wrong? You always said…” He stopped. He covered his eyes like it would stop the onslaught of tears, palms pressing against his eyelids. “I’m sorry…” _That I ruined everything._

A minute passed. Nothing but Mike’s quiet sniffles could be heard.

“Mikey?”

The name, one that Mike had stored in the back of his memories after years of disuse, sent small sparks through his nerves. He froze at the rough accent, teary eyes wide.

Metal clanked against the floor. “Mikey?”

Mike’s head jerked up. Foxy’s posture was fluid and slumped. His eyes were no longer angry or feral, but gloomy and soft; wide with emotions. He was no longer a terrifying, hulking robot ready to kill him, he was…Foxy.

“Mikey?” Foxy called again, softer this time.

And Mike suddenly felt the need to run. He shot to his feet, only for them to give out. He fell on his rear and crawled backwards, his arms swiftly turning to jelly. He didn’t know when he started hyperventilating, but he could hear himself over the blood in his ears.

Horror was coursing through every wire in Foxy’s body like it had been doing ever since he heard the manager’s call. He looked down at the boy, disgusted with himself. Mikey, they had been trying to hurt, to _kill_ Mikey. He reached hesitantly. “M-Mikey, I-.”

“Never mind,” Mike blurted. He swore he could see blood on Foxy’s fangs, his blood. He started scrambling to his feet. “I don’t want to know anymore.”

And then he was running.

“Mikey, wait!”

Chica was standing outside the Cove. She and Mike let out twin screams of surprise, sky and orchid eyes reflecting on each other. Her arms flailed, like she didn’t know what to do with them. The teen leapt off the Cove ledge, his ankles aching in protest at the impact, and ran down the west hallway.

Bonnie opened the closet door. “Guys, what’s going–?” He stopped when he saw Mike. “Mikey?”

Mike skidded to a stop, his breath coming in short bursts. Bonnie may be the one who was the least likely to kill him, but the rabbit had stilled _tried to kill him!_

Bonnie’s eyes became cloudy. “Mikey.” His name was said with relief. The rabbit gave him a watery smile and stepped forward. “Mikey, you’re okay.”

Mike couldn’t help but take a step back. He was panicking, but he was registering the words. Bonnie sounded like he had been worried, but that didn’t erase the past three weeks.

The rabbit looked horrified with himself. “I-it’s okay! I’m not going to hurt you, Mikey, I promise.” He reached out his hand. “It’s okay.”

The first night hit Mike’s brain like a truck. Bonnie reaching for him, cloudy-eyed and with the intent to drag him to the backroom. There were no doors between them this time, nothing to protect Mike from harm. He could see the gentle promise in Bonnie’s eyes, but the dark and the memories just made it too much and _he’s lying, he’s going to kill me, run!_

Bonnie must have noticed the intent to run, because his eyes widened and he yelled, “Freddy!”

Something grabbed him from behind. His arms were pinned at his sides, the grip around his body tight. Mike screamed, the suddenness of the immobile position striking fear into his very core. He kicked and thrashed, his breaths coming in short, choked bursts as he screamed. Blue eyes darted like scared fish, the world blurry and moving. Everything was a haze of color and darkness.

A large paw came over his eyes. It was cool and fluffy, though a little rough. “Shh,” a deep voice hushed. “Deep breaths, Michael.”

Freddy. The same Freddy that had once played with him, who had tucked him into his makeshift bed in the supply closest whenever Mama forgot to come back for him and read him a bedtime story from the lost-and-found. The same Freddy who snuck him ice cream cake and wiped his face to hide the evidence. The same Freddy that had nearly broken his neck three weeks ago. He could still feel the bruises despite their faded marks still crushing his windpipe.

A sudden calmness took root in Mike’s limbs. He let out a shaky gasp, the tranquil feeling spreading like a gentle wave throughout his body. His legs went limp, his tensed nerves smoothing out and loosening. Freddy’s thumb was making small circles on Mike’s scalp. He could breathe again, his lungs slack.

“There you go,” Freddy murmured. “Deep breaths.”

Mike obeyed. He took in breaths as deep as he could, pitiful inhales that clashed with small coughs. He squirmed feebly, the need to move still there. A short distance was moved, his legs swaying with each step Freddy took. A chair scrapped against the tiles, and then Mike could see again. Freddy was setting him down, the back of the chair a small cushion against his back. Mike brought up shaky hands and wiped his face.

Movement. Mike lifted his head to see Freddy standing just ahead of him, Bonnie and Chica off to his one side. Foxy had backed away, seemingly frozen. They weren’t killing him, so that was a good sign. Mike still felt like running and crying his eyes out.

Freddy felt like someone had torn out his entire endoskeleton at the sight of Mike’s tragic face. He took in a mental breath. “Michael, we…” What could he say without making this whole situation worse? “We didn’t know it was you.”

That split Mike in two. “What?” His face was slapped with confusion. “What do you mean?”

The three behind Freddy gave each other quick, uncomfortably glances. Freddy seemed to pause, like he didn’t want to say something. Mike suddenly didn’t want to hear anymore, but he didn’t know what he wanted in its place.

“…We thought you were dead,” Chica said. Her voice was quiet and wounded. “After ’87…” She trailed off.

Mike stared, jaw dropped. “You… You thought I was dead?”

“Yeah,” Bonnie chimed in. His voice was strained. “We saw you. You weren’t moving.” The rosy eyes were distant, the horrible scene coming back to him. “At all.”

“B-but… But I don’t look that different.” Mike paused, because he wasn’t sure what he was remembering was correct at all. “Do I?”

“No, you barely look any different.” Freddy saying it aloud hurt all of them equally.

Then why…? “But why didn’t you recognize me?"

“The staff kept saying you died,” Chica said softly. “And the… Everything we saw, we believed it, too.” She looked sick, her purple eyes dim.

“Wasn’t there any news?” Mike asked. There was no way the entire staff at the time believed him to be dead. “Any newspapers left around, gossip? Was there really nothing?”

“Nothing,” Freddy echoed. His face was the picture of regret. “We truly believed you were dead.”

Mike looked at all of them. He knew they were telling the truth, he could see it in their eyes and hear it in their voices. He swallowed. “I mean, I did die,” he admitted. He saw Foxy flinch. “But I was…brought back. Layla and the others…” He could picture the vortex, the Children.

Their eyes widened. “You saw them?” Bonnie asked quietly. “We felt them leave for a while after you were taken.”

“Bonnie.” Chica’s voice was hissed and sharp.

“No, it’s fine. I… I know about where they were. I know.” The blue eyes dimmed. “I didn’t even think about that.”

“No one did,” Freddy said, his tone a reassuring one. “We were the last places anyone would look.”

No one wanted to believe that a child, or their child, had been shoved into a children’s animatronic. No one wanted to think of the possibility, even with the size of the animatronics coming into play. No one believed that someone would be heartless enough to do that kind of thing.

But someone had.

“When did people find out?” Mike asked quietly. He knew the bodies weren’t there anymore. No one was that oblivious. “Did the company know?”

“They did, but not at first. Everyone else found out about a week after the Bite,” Freddy answered. Just thinking of the day… “The company had already been hiding some…questionable things, but someone higher up decided to have the bodies removed.”

Foxy shuffled a bit. “Where were they taken?” he asked.

Foxy’s voice nearly startled Mike. The pirate had been near silent the entire time. “They were wrapped in blankets and put outside of the police station,” Mike answered, remembering the paper. “They were all cremated after their funerals.”

That made the animatronics look ill. “That means they were burned to ash, right?” Bonnie said. He remembered the definition in the dictionary. “And put into pots?”

“It’s better that way,” Freddy said, turning to Bonnie. “Very simple and clean.” Their bodies were already so rotted. A cremation was a mercy for their corpses. He just hoped their parents hadn’t seen them beforehand.

“They’re gone, aren’t they?” Scotty had said that they were, but he needed to hear it again.

“They’ve been gone a long time,” Chica told him. “We went to sleep one night and then they were just…gone.”

They hadn’t said goodbye? “Where did they go?”

“We don’t know. They kept telling us about what they thought were afterlives, but we never found out what one was true.” Freddy looked hopeful. “But we’re sure they’re happy now.”

It was a stretch, but it was the only branch Mike could go out on. "Are these...powers from them?"

"Yes," Chica answered. She then paused. "That's short of it."

 _What's the long of it_ , Mike wanted to ask, but even though he was here for exactly those answers, it wasn't a topic he wanted to entirely breach right now. The animatronics didn't seem to want to either. He said nothing.

A long pause.

“You kill the guards because of Roger, don’t you?” Mike asked.

Everyone’s eyes flickered black. The teen cowered, wide-eyed. They loosened swiftly at the sight of Mike’s fear, the four colorful irises on show again. “Yes,” Freddy confirmed. A gentleness laced his tone.

“We thought all guards were evil,” Bonnie said sheepishly. “It sounds childish, but...”

“We had the mentality of young teenagers,” the bear finished. “It doesn’t excuse our actions, but we truly believed we were doing the right thing. We were incredibly angry for the longest time.”

“We thought that we were protectin’ the children from another murderer,” Foxy added quietly.

“Some of them had families,” Mike couldn’t help but say. He hadn't had a family with loving parents and siblings, so to know that the animatronics who had stepped in for him as a child had torn those very things apart...

“We look at the files,” Chica said, her protest weak to herself and everyone else. “We usually just scared them off if they had children, but depended on who they really were. If they had anything really bad on their records or something like that, we’d kill them.”

“But you didn’t look at mine.” It wasn’t a question. They would have found out who he was if that was the case and those weeks could have been avoided.

“We didn’t,” Freddy admitted quietly. Guiltily. “We thought you were a doppelganger, and we were just so angry that we didn’t even bother to look at your file.”

That set him off. “So you didn’t even try!” Mike exploded, wrenching up from his chair. His eyes were greying. “You didn’t even try to talk to me! If I looked barely any different than when I was a kid then you should have said something! You just assumed I was some random lookalike and didn't bother looking! None of you even _tried_!” he screamed.

Everyone flinched. Their eyes were grey and cloudy. Bonnie was covering his face like he was about to cry.

“Do you have any idea how excited I was to see all of you?! After nine years, do you have any idea how happy and nervous I was to see you again?!” Mike’s voice was shrill. He turned to Foxy, eyes blazing. “I was so relieved to see that you were still here even after the Bite! Even after you _hurt_ me and nearly _killed_ me, I was happy to see you!” He paused and took in a shaky breath. “And you just walked away. You took one look at me and walked away.”

Foxy had no idea how much lower his guilt for hurting Mike could go, but it definitely went below what bar was available. “I…”

“No. Just… I can’t do this anymore.” Mike grabbed at his hair and pulled, face pinched with anguish. Sobs built in his throat, his chest quivering. “I just don’t understand. Everything’s always taken from me. _This_ was taken from me.”

Freddy grabbed Foxy’s hand when the fox began to reach. Foxy looked at him, eyes desperate, then away and withdrew his hand. Freddy looked at Mike. “We did take this from you,” he said sadly. “This was a safe place for you from home, and what we’ve done now has taken it from you.”

“You’re damn right,” Mike snapped, unable to keep it to himself. Everyone flinched. “You were the only ones who cared about me. This was the only place I felt safe from Sir, and you–!”

He froze. _Oh no._ Terror gripped at Mike’s throat. He shut his mouth and looked away.

“Michael, we know about…him,” Freddy said, forcing the word out. Any parental word wasn't something any of them associated with that man after hearing what they had from the teen as a child.

Mike looked at him with almost blank eyes. “How?”

“You’ve told us some things about him,” Chica said carefully. Even those little tidbits they had to coax and pull from him.

His fingers dug into his arms. “I’ve never told anyone…”

“Ye didn’ outright tell us sometimes,” Foxy told him. “We…figured some stuff out on our own.” _When ye would cry if ye believed ye were bein' bad._

_“If you ever tell anyone, I’m burying you alive in the yard…”_

_“Don’t ever tell, Mikey baby, don’t ever tell.”_

_“I’m not allowed to tell.”_

The fear slammed into him. His chest, his soul, throbbed painfully, and suddenly he was too hot and too cold. He let out a pained scream, his eyes swiftly swallowed by black and burning from the ink’s touch. His nose began to bleed with it, dribbles of ink escaping his lips and dripping onto the floor.

The four let out loud gasps. “Mikey!” Foxy exclaimed, terrified.

Mike grabbed and pulled at his hair. “It hurts!” he whined.

“Michael, you need to calm down,” Freddy said hurriedly.

“I can’t!” Mike let out a pained sob. “It h-hurts!”

Something went through his chest and wrapped around his soul. The sudden calmness returned. A comforting warmth spread throughout his body, his nerves going limp again. Mike stumbled, but a firm weight curled around his chest and held him up. His eyelids fluttered, tired and heavy. He looked at Freddy to see that the bear was the source of whatever was calming him. Black lines stretched from the shoulder joints animatronic, the icy eyes white and surrounded by black.

The teen rubbed his face lethargically. “How…? How are you doing that?” he asked.

“Practice,” Freddy blurted, still shocked. Seeing Michael in such a pained state already wounded him, but seeing it happen with the aid of powers like theirs…

“Are you okay, Mikey?” Chica asked. She held herself back from going to him.

Mike lifted a hand to rub his face. He felt incredibly light. “Better now,” he murmured.

After a minute of waiting, the lines retracted. Mike managed to stay standing. The pain in his chest was still there, but it was back to its normal throbbing. The teen rubbed at his chest like it would help, breathing in slowly. He wiped off the ink that had come from his mouth and nose onto his shirt.

“Michael,” Freddy began carefully, “I felt a lot of cuts on you when I grabbed you, and we overheard the manager talking to someone on the phone about a therapist.”

Mike stiffened. Logan had talked about it over the phone? Here? How did the feeling part work? He shrank down, grabbing at his sleeves and pulling himself tighter together. 

“They’re from you,” the bear said, stating more than questioning. It hadn’t taken more than a minute to realize what self-harm meant. “You’re hurting yourself.”

Foxy felt lightheaded. He had hoped it wasn’t true, that the boy wasn’t hurting himself, but now… “Mikey?”

Tears stung the dull blues. He said nothing. It felt like the world had come crashing down when Chris had seen, but the animatronics knowing ripped apart the whole universe.

Freddy looked at him for a long moment, then stepped forward. He crouched and gently took Mike’s arm in hand, carefully pushing up the sleeve and revealing the scars and the scabs littering the pale skin. The scar from Foxy’s hook was bigger than all of them, sticking out with its darker skin. Small sobs left Mike, but he couldn’t find the voice or strength to do anything.

Freddy felt like the world had disappeared beneath his feet. “Oh, Michael…”

Foxy didn’t realize that his legs were shaking until Bonnie grabbed his arm to keep him up. Chica let out a choked sob. Mikey, the last of the Children, their last child…

“There’s more,” Mike confessed, crying. “They’re everywhere.”

Freddy knew that. He had felt the teen's disgust and shame towards them, how small he felt with everyone looking at them. Maybe if he...? He lifted up his hand, a thin layer of black seeping through his palm. He hovered it closely over Mike’s arm, running it back and forth slowly. It was very different from healing a soul, but he would do what he could. Perhaps he could take some of that pain away. 

It was warm. Mike stared with teary eyes at what Freddy was doing. With each pass he could feel his skin knitting together, healing. He felt scabs tighten before disappearing, dark scars becoming lighter. Despite the calmness in his veins, he continued to cry. He just couldn’t stop.

Freddy pulled away a few minutes later. Many of the scars were still there, but not as dark. “It’s all I can do,” the bear murmured. They had never healed human skin before and it was much different than healing a soul.

Mike trembled violently. He threw his arms around the bear’s neck before he could stop himself. The scent of Freddy’s fur, oil and pizza with - strangely - the faintest whiff of coffee, was incredibly comforting. His hands curled, fingers digging into the messy fur. A hand settled on the back of his head, massive, was a comforting weight despite where it had been two weeks ago.

Mike sniffled, the tears already soaking into Freddy’s fur. “I’m sorry,” he rasped.

Freddy fought from tightening his grip. “No, Michael. _We’re_ sorry.”

Mike broke. His wail was loud and ear-splitting, but no one covered their ears. They didn’t deserve that privilege, but even if they did they wouldn’t take it. Mike deserved more than this even before everything they had done, and this is the least they could give to him right now. If they were given the chance to fix this, which they all hoped they could have if Mike let them, then they’d give the boy everything.

They _would_ fix this.

\- - - - -

It took a while for Mike to calm down. When he finally pulled his head back from Freddy’s shoulder, his eyes were red and scratchy. He let go of Freddy to rub at them, sniffling pitifully all the while. The bear didn’t move from his spot, though he did settle on patting Mike’s back.

“Sorry,” Mike muttered.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Freddy said firmly.

Mike’s hand bumped in to a party hat when it fell back to his side, the hat falling off the table. He let out a small grunt and extended his hand, gritting his teeth. The line slipped from his palm like frozen butter, burning horribly. It was jagged and weak, but it had formed quickly. Mike managed to wrap it around the partially fallen hat before lifting. Lifting was so much harder than pushing, but he could do it.

Mike let out a startled squeak whenever a black line slithered up and grabbed the hat, trying to pull it away him. The teen let out a grunt as he tried to hold on, but his grip was easily overpowered. The party hat was whisked from him, being pulled upwards to Freddy. Mike tried to reach out with his power, to grab it back, but the line withered and disappeared quickly.

The hat floated by Freddy’s head. He was frowning. “It’s hurting you.”

“It’s fine,” Mike said. His face was scrunched up in concentration as he tried to bring his line back. He could put it back. “Let me just-.”

Freddy settled a hand on Mike’s shoulder. The teen stopped his attempts instantly. “That’s enough,” he said.

“How bad is it hurtin’ ye?” Foxy asked. Knowing that Mikey was hurting made him feel sick.

Mike bit his lip. “I can handle it,” he murmured. It was up there with the times Sir would break a bone.

“Michael, be honest with us,” Freddy told him. “How bad is it?”

The teen shuffled. “Really bad,” he confessed.

The icy eyes were dim. “I thought so.” He gestured to the chair. “Sit down. I’ll take a look.”

Mike gave him a strange look. “You’ll what?”

“I’ll see how bad the damage is,” Freddy clarified. “It won’t hurt, I promise.”

“I did one time and it hurt really bad after it went back,” Mike said, cautious.

“You took it out yourself?” Bonnie blurted, surprised.

Apparently that was something to be proud of. “On accident,” the teen told him, sitting down.

“A very impressive accident,” Bonnie corrected.

Freddy’s hand was enormous compared to Mike’s chest. There was the warmth from the black substance coating his hand, held there like a doctor listening for a heartbeat. A spike of fear poked at Mike; Freddy could easily crush his chest and kill him even without the aid of his powers. He tensed on instinct, suddenly feeling like the air was steadily draining from the room.

“It’s alright,” Freddy said. “Just keep breathing, Michael.”

Mike didn’t miss the quiet gasps from everyone when Freddy’s hands coaxed his soul from his chest. Aside from the slightly darker coloring, it looked the same to Mike. To everyone else, it looked horrible. The gash – Foxy would throw up if he had a stomach – across the front was dripping onto the floor, and the soul was much too light to be healthy.

"I'm so sorry," Foxy rasped, sunny eyes dim. He did this. He had ripped a horrific Tear on Mike's soul and had made it worse with his stunt last week. All he had done was hurt the poor boy.

Mike knew he was. "It's okay," he said, his voice gentle. It wasn't, he knew it wasn't, but he knew now that Foxy had never meant to do this.

Freddy didn’t look surprised at the damage, but he didn’t look happy either. “This is a very old Tear,” he announced. “It’s…not good.”

That sounded like tear with a capital ‘T’. These kind of things had to have happened to them if they had an official name for it. Just the word sent a cold pang through Mike. “What does that mean?”

“It’s…” Freddy hesitated, trying to find a better word. He couldn’t find one. “It’s permanently damaged.”

A weight settled in Mike’s chest. He already knew it was damaged, but hearing it from Freddy… “I’m broken,” he murmured, voicing the thought that he had been harboring ever since he learned about the Tear.

“No,” Freddy said firmly. “You are _not_ broken, Michael. You are far from broken.”

A weak chuckle left the boy. “Sure.”

Freddy looked at him for a minute before he went back to surveying the damage. The black swiftly took over his eyes, lines sliding from his neck to curl slightly around the small soul. Mike shivered when he felt them graze it. They held warmth and a calm demeanor, but it felt so weird. “I feel a lot of knots in it," he said.

“Knots?” Mike echoed, confused.

“They happen,” Bonnie chimed in. “We’re not really sure how they happen, though. We think they happen in distress and then they get worse over time if they’re not fixed.”

“If you feel a lot of them, I’m not surprised,” the teen mumbled.

“Bonnie, come look at this,” Freddy said.

The rabbit obeyed, dropping into a crouch next to him. Freddy moved over for more room. Bonnie’s eyes narrowed as he inspected it. “It’s trying to heal right now,” he announced. “We’re not doing anything to it.”

“Being close to someone with a soul helps with healing,” Mike told him. “Logan, uh, figured that out.”

"The manager knows." Chica stated it more than asked.

"Yeah." A sudden sharp pain had Mike squealing and recoiling violently. _“Aah!”_ he shrieked, batting at Bonnie hands.

Bonnie’s hands instantly pulled back. “Sorry!” He hadn’t thought a mere graze would cause that amount of pain.

“Bonnie, what the hell?” Foxy snapped. He had tensed at Mike’s cry of pain.

“I didn’t mean to!” Bonnie snapped back at him.

“It needs to be healed now,” Freddy said, raising his voice a bit. Now was not the time for fighting. “It’s bleeding and the pain’s only going to get worse the more time we wait.”

“Bleeding? Like, actually bleeding?” It sounded like a cliché quote, but it made Mike shiver. Then again it was the only thing he could describe what his soul was doing when he saw the mess the wound left.

“Essentially,” Freddy answered. “We can fix it, but it’s been there for a long time. Then there’s the knots…”

Mike looked at Freddy with fearful eyes. “Is it going to hurt?”

The bear let out a lamenting sigh. “I’m afraid it is."

It was moments later that Mike was standing rigidly with Freddy’s arms locked around him, his legs being the only thing free at the moment. Bonnie was on his knees in front of him, lines from his shoulder and neck joints poised and ready. Chica was standing against the wall, looking on worriedly. Foxy was on Mike’s other side doing the same. Bonnie would close the gash while everyone else kept Mike as grounded as they could through the pain.

Freddy holding onto him wasn’t just to keep Mike from thrashing around.

“I’ll be as fast as I can,” Bonnie said, his tone reassuring.

“Everythin’s goin’ ta be okay, Mikey,” Foxy soothed. He wished he could do more than just stand by and be moral support. “We’re all here.”

They _were_ all here.

“Michael,” Freddy said. The teen looked up hesitantly. “It’s going to be okay.”

Mike swallowed dryly. “Okay,” he rasped. His fingers dug into the chocolate fur. “I trust you.”

Those words held a lot of weight. A lot of weight that everyone was more than willing to carry.

“Wait.” Everyone froze at Mike’s words. The teen looked up at Freddy. “Could this kill me?”

Everyone’s expressions gave him the answer. “Mikey…” Chica said softly.

The dull blues hardened. “Could it?”

Freddy let out a sigh. Mike didn’t blame the need to mimic the sound since they didn’t have lungs. “It could,” he answered reluctantly. “The pain and shock could force you to pass out or…kill you.”

“But we’re going to keep that from happening,” Chica chimed in from her side. “We will.”

Mike wasn’t sure how they could cheat human death. He looked at Foxy. “If I do die,” he said quietly, “I need to know: Did you do it on purpose?”

Foxy’s ears pulled back, his expression horrified. “Mikey–.”

“Please just answer me,” the boy begged. “I’ve spent years wondering why. Just please tell me the truth.”

Foxy’s answer was swift. “I didn’.” He sounded disgusted with himself. “I didn’ do it on purpose, I swear. I would never hurt–.” He stopped, realizing that he couldn’t say that anymore. Everyone but Mike was stiff, because they no longer had that right to say that phrase.

Mike let out a relieved sigh. The crushing fear and weight of the Bite’s truth felt lifted. He didn’t notice his soul give a strong pulse; Bonnie did. “I've been terrified of what you'd say for years,” he said shakily. He had imagined all kinds of scenarios, always giving him the answer he dreaded most, but hearing the best and most hoped for one... "Thank you."

Foxy’s eyes hardened. He dropped into a crouch next to him, positioning himself as best as he could to Mike's level. “Mikey, look at me,” he said firmly. Mike hesitantly looked at him, blue reflecting off of the determined yellows. “Ye are not goin’ ta die. Bonnie’s goin’ ta fix this, and then we’re goin’ ta fix what we’ve done ta ye. Ye aren’ goin’ ta die. I’m not–.” He stopped. Mike could hear gears rattling. “We _are not_ goin’ ta lose ye again.”

Mike’s eyes were teary. “But…”

“We’ll make this right,” Foxy said. He sounded so hopeful and strong. “All of us.”

Mike looked at him for a minute longer, big and emotional, before taking in a deep breath and turning to face Bonnie. “Do it.”

Bonnie’s lines slipped into the wounded soul. Almost instantly it began to bleed, black pouring onto the floor from the Tear. Mike started screaming, blackened eyes letting out dark and clear streams of tears. Freddy held firm on his quaking arms. His legs kicked out, thrashing and kicking, before lines from Freddy’s knee joints slithered out and wrapped around the stray limbs.

“Keep him still!” Bonnie exclaimed. The squirming could throw him off and make him do more harm than good.

 _“It hurts!”_ Mike screeched.

Chica looked like she was about to cry. “We know, sweetie!” she rasped, her voice shaking. “It’s okay!”

It was horrible. The knots – there were so many – had to be pulled apart and smoothed out. Painful, yes, but the Tear was what Bonnie was the most worried about. It was a mess, much worse than Freddy’s Tear from the week before and anything like any of them had ever had. It would take him a good amount of time just for that. As much as he hated to admit it, it was easier to access the inside of Mike’s soul and the knots through the Tear, so he’d have to keep that mostly open while he healed it at the same time.

Mike’s soul was too weak to stabilize itself now. If Bonnie was interrupted, Mike would die.

The screaming was too much for all of them. Foxy was quaking. “Bonnie, ye’re goin’ ta kill him!”

“If I stop now, I will kill him!” Bonnie retorted over Mike’s screams.

Foxy couldn’t stop himself from reaching and grabbing Mike’s twitching hand. The small fingers dug into the metal hand almost instantly. “It’s okay!” he shouted above the screams. “Ye’re okay, Mikey, we’re right here!”

A wet cough splattered ink all over Bonnie’s face. The rabbit let out a small, grossed out whine, but he didn’t stop his work. Chica noted that it was darker, almost the exact shade of their souls. The gash was steadily closing, Bonnie knitting it from one side to the other. The healing was almost done.

 _“Stoooop!”_ Mike’s head lolled shakily to face Foxy. His white pupils were distorted and wavering, his face covered with the darkening sludge. _“Foxyyyy…!”_ he wailed.

“Bonnie!” Foxy yelled again. He wanted nothing more than to hold Mike to his chest and hug the pain away, but this needed to be done no matter how painful it was to watch and listen.

“I’m working as fast as I can!” the rabbit snapped.

“It’s almost done, Michael!” Freddy managed to get over the screams. “Almost done, just focus on Foxy!”

Bonnie clenched his jaw. “Almost…!”

“Mike!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who could that possibly be? :)
> 
> Again: This is not the end! We've got 3 chapters left! (the third is the epilogue and very short but I'm counting it as a chapter)


	33. Kid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bad gut feeling wakes Chris up, and it proves to be correct when he finds Mike missing from his room. Chris doesn't know how much more terror this kid can make him feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, got this out early. I still feel really bad for keeping you guys on hold for the last chapter. Still super thankful for the patience.
> 
> You can probably tell I was a little sloppy and rushed with this chapter. I felt that this was a necessary filler, but I'm not too satisfied with it. We're so close to the end but my need for smooth transitions is killing me! There's only so much to do when the time skip is just an hour and everyone lives like twenty minutes at most from each other.
> 
> But we know Chris cares and I like giving him heart attacks :) Enjoy!
> 
> !!! Warning: Rehashing the tags of "self-harm" and "attempted suicide" for this chapter !!!

Chris jolted from sleep like someone had dumped water on him. The TV was off. The house would have been completely silent if it weren’t the rain tapping against the roof. It wasn’t often that the nighttime quiet unnerved Chris, but he felt crushed by it.

_Something’s wrong._

He rolled off of the couch and onto his feet, stretching and yawning. Buddy’s big brown eyes opened and looked up. He was still lying in his dog bed. Chris gave the dog a small smile and finished stretched to drop into a couch to pet him. Usually it was a calming gesture to himself, but Buddy’s soft and glossy fur was doing none of that right now. A weight had settled in his stomach that made it burn with acid.

A quick check on his phone told him it was late. It was nearly 1.

Chris went upstairs, cautious. He wasn’t sure why he felt so on edge. He hadn’t heard any glass breaking or locks being picked, and Buddy would be barking like crazy even if he did. Not to mention Logan and Petunia would be ready to defend their home and kids. Logan’s office door, which was far too disarming on the outside with what Chris knew what was inside, was shut and every other door was cracked a tad.

Except for Mike’s.

It shouldn’t have made Chris nervous, it shouldn’t have done anything at all, but Chris found himself walking fairly faster than a calm pace.

He gently knocked on it. “Mike?” he called quietly.

No answer. Mike was probably sleeping like a normal person at this hour, but Mike had proven that he wasn’t entirely normal.

The lack of response was enough for Chris to open the door. “Mike?” he called again, stepping into the room. “Are you okay, kiddo?”

The cold of the outside hit him then, along with the smell of rain. The window was wide open, curtains fluttering gently with the small breeze. A rope – the fucking bedsheets – was lying in a misshapen pile in front of the window, the end tied to one of the bedposts.

Mike was gone.

Chris felt like his insides had turned to ice. “Holy shit,” he breathed, wide-eyed.

A notepad sat on the bed. It was in Chris’s hands almost instantly, his knuckles turning white from his grip on it.

_"Went to my apartment to check on things. I didn’t want to wake anyone, so I went through the window. Be back soon."_

Did Mike honestly think that Chris was going to believe that? Went back to check on what exactly, there was nothing in that train wreck of an apartment no matter how clean Mike kept it. It wasn’t like there was anything to rob if that was the concern. If Mike was really that worried about his apartment, why couldn’t he have woken Chris up? Sure, it would have been annoying as hell to drive over so late in the night, but he would have done it if Mike was truly worried.

No, Mike was going there for something else.

It hit Chris that they hadn’t checked Mike’s apartment for anything sharp.

Chris was throwing open Logan’s door seconds later. “Logan!” Chris hissed. He stormed over to the bed and grabbed the man’s shoulders to give him a hard shake. “Logan!”

The blond let out a small cry of surprise. “Augh!” The bleary eyes focused on Chris. “Chris, what the hell?”

“Mike’s gone.”

Petunia jerked up from her spot. “What?”

“Mike’s gone. He’s not in his room and the window’s wide open. I found a fucking rope made from his sheets balled up by the window. He left a note saying he was going back to his apartment to check on things and I don’t fucking believe him.”

Logan and Petunia were practically jumping from the bed. “Oh my god,” Petunia gasped. She looked terrified. “You don’t think he’s…”

“We didn’t check his apartment,” Logan said, paling.

Chris was already out of the bedroom. “I’m going over,” he announced. “Stay here in case he comes back.”

Logan and Petunia were following him. “In case he comes back?!” Logan blurted, wild-eyed. “Why would he come back if he’s gone to–?!”

“He might back out!” Chris hissed back at him. “He left a note of where he was going. He wants someone to find and stop him. He’s on the fence about it.”

Rosie, the light sleeper she always was, peered around her bedroom door. “Daddy? Mama?” She looked scared as she clung to her alligator doll. “What’s going on?”

And the girls couldn’t be left alone was going to be Chris’s other point. They needed both their parents right now.

Logan looked back at her. “Rosie, sweetie-pie…” He went over and lifted her up. “There’s a bit of a situation going on right now.”

Petunia looked at Chris. The basil eyes were hard. “Go,” she said. “We’ll stay here with the girls. We’ll call you if he comes back.”

The blond looked at her, baffled. “Petunia-!”

“The more people, the more stressed it’ll make him,” she said to him. “I know what it’s like to be on the edge, Logan. You know that, too.”

Logan grimaced, but he didn’t argue. Rosie looked at Mike’s room. The door was still wide open, revealing enough to Rosie for her to ask, “Where’s Mike?”

Chris was already down the stairs. Logan and Petunia were trying to explain why Mike wasn’t in his room. Buddy had woken up from the commotion, the dog trotting from the living room. Chris bypassed him and went into the kitchen for his keys, gaping when he saw that they weren’t on the counter where he had left them.

Mike’s keys were gone.

It didn’t take long for Chris to find them. He knew that Mike wouldn’t have taken them, but it made his anxiety go through the roof when he found them in the silverware drawer. Mike had actually tried to _hide_ his keys from him. It was enough to make Chris pick up his already rushed pace and run out the door.

On his way over, going over curves and running lights, Chris couldn’t understand. Mike was getting better, Chris knew he was. He hadn’t snuck anything sharp from the kitchen, he ate what he could of his dinner and slept for a healthy amount of hours, and he had seemed happy. He had even put on a little weight and color on his skin from being outside more. Sure, it had only been for a week before his second was spent lying in bed, but it was the point.

Mike _was_ happy, wasn’t he?

But he had heard from Petunia that cutting could become an addiction. Her former job of working in a hospital had her seeing these kind of things almost constantly. Mike had been doing this nonstop for seven years; two weeks of staying off the razor wasn’t going to match up against that record. Mike was probably happy, Chris wouldn’t believe that he wasn’t, but the need for him to do this to himself was still too strong.

The more Chris thought about it, the more it hurt and the more he felt useless. He could hide everything sharp and dangerous, take the things straight from Mike’s hands, but he couldn’t actually stop Mike from cutting. It was something Mike had to do himself, and Chris hated that all he could be was moral support and not the one to fix it.

All he wanted was for the kid to be happy. Was that too much to ask for?

Mike’s apartment light was off, but it didn’t deter Chris. Mike didn’t need light for something like this, something he had been doing for seven years. Chris haphazardly parked alongside the curb and jumped out of the car so fast that he could have given himself whiplash. He probably looked like a crazy person running inside with an obvious pajama outfit and Logan’s sneakers, but he could care less if one of the tenants saw him.

Chris ignored the sounds coming from Miss Lady’s apartment and practically broke down the door to Mike’s. “Mike!” he shouted, rushing in.

There was no answer. It made Chris’s heart drop into his stomach.

It was after scouring the apartment when Chris realized that Mike had lied. He wasn’t in his apartment now, but he had been. He had come here for something and then left.

_So where the fuck is he?_

Miss Lady opened the door after Chris pounded on it for nearly a minute straight. She grinned crookedly at him. “Hey, handsome!” she chirped. “Are you here for the party?”

She was high as hell or on something else. She looked like a wreck. Chris glanced over her shoulder. Half the party was passed out and the other half was doing an array of drugs. “No,” he said plainly. “Where’s Mike?”

“No clue. He put a note under my door.” She pulled it from her jean pocket. It was crumpled and folded in some places. “I used it for a paper plane.”

Chris snatched it from her hand. He ignored her protesting cry and opened it the rest of the way. It was hastily written and the handwriting was sloppy, but it was Mike’s.

_"I’m sorry for lying to you. I needed answers from the source, so I went to the pizzeria. Don’t go inside. Don’t go inside no matter what because I don’t want you to die. I don’t know what they’ll do._

_I’ve been keeping this a secret for a long time, but the animatronics are **alive**. They have emotions and everything. They’re not robots with a bad glitch, they’re robots who are consciously killing people. I’m going to find out why. I’m going to find out the truth to everything._

_I’m sorry. Thank you for everything."_

Fucking Christ, he really was trying to kill himself.

Miss Lady reached and grabbed his wrists. “Come on, handsome, let’s have some fun.”

Chris yanked his hands from her grip. “Are you kidding me?!” he yelled, reeling from the note. “Mike left you a note with a death wish and you didn’t even check on him?! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

The glassy amber eyes widened slightly. “A what?”

Chris turned and sprinted down the hall. He needed to get to the pizzeria now. Mike could still be alive. Logan’s words from weeks ago came back to him, about how Mike was smaller than an adult and could survive being stuffed. Back then it had sounded ludicrous, a sad idea clinging to hope, but now it was what Chris was counting on if Mike had gotten caught.

“Hey, what’s got you in a tizzy?” Miss Lady hollered down the hall. “It’s not he’ll actually do it.”

“Fuck you!” Chris shouted over his shoulder.

Even if someone did try to pull Chris over, he wouldn’t stop. Nothing was going to stop him from saving the kid. He didn’t care if this was a search for answers or some kind of twisted redemption in Mike’s head, Chris was going in there and coming back out with the kid no matter what.

He had resented Mike had first. Not hated, just disliked him. In the span of a month, Mike had become one of the most important things in his life. The kid had been like a puppy chewing on his shoe seeking attention, and Chris could only resist the annoyance for so long before he caved. Before his world was spinning just fine, but now he couldn’t imagine the world without the kid. If Mike was gone, things wouldn’t be the same. The world would be bleak, empty with someone like Mike missing from it.

Mike was _his_ responsibility. _His_ little brother. _His_ kid.

Getting invested with Mike's life was one of the most terrifying things Chris had ever done, but he couldn’t regret it.

He pulled into the pizzeria parking lot and drove right next to the door. He slammed on his breaks and shut the truck off. The janitor yanked the baseball bat out of the backseat and leapt out of the truck. Chris could hear screaming, Mike screaming, and wasted no time barreling through the doors – they weren’t even locked – and ran to the main room’s entrance.

They were surrounding Mike in a tight circle. Bonnie was crouched in front of him, black lines coming from his shoulders and neck that were obviously focused on the boy. Freddy had his arms around Mike, eyes black _just like Mike’s._ Chica was standing off to the side, watching, and Foxy was on the other. His hand was keeping Mike’s captive, the boy’s fingers twitching like crazy.

Mike looked like he came straight out of a horror movie. The ink was everywhere. His face was nearly covered in it, the shiny liquid sticking to his hair as it oozed from his ears. His screaming was unending, his voice still going strong despite the magnitude. His whitened pupils were distorted, like a VCR image trying to work through being rewound.

Chris felt his heart implode. They were fucking killing him. “Mike!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 chapter left and then the epilogue (so technically two chapters but the epilogue is very short and will be posted immediately after the next chapter)! More to come.
> 
> Also Chris may seem a little dramatic, but this is the kid he's basically adopted as a son and little brother at this point in danger.


	34. A New Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a lot of pain, yelling, and fighting, the Tear is finally fixed. Mike passes out for a much deserved rest, and Chris has a tense talk with the animatronics about the future. More specifically, Mike's future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. The final chapter before the (very short) epilogue. Thank you all so much for reading and enjoying this. Your support and love really made this worth everything. I can't reiterate enough how touched I am to see that people really liked my AU ;U;

Everyone but Bonnie and Mike jerked their heads up. The janitor was standing in the doorway, his face the picture of horror. A metal bat was held tightly in his right hand in a vice grip.

Great.

Chris’s eyes hardened and his teeth clenched. He ran over, bat ready to swing. “Get the fuck away from him!”

“Chica, stop him!” Freddy shouted.

It was the real reason Chica had held off on holding Mike’s hand; in case someone barged in. Bonnie couldn’t be interrupted. She – reluctantly – left Mike’s side and ran towards Chris. He couldn’t get near Bonnie, especially with that bat.

Chris barely registered what Freddy had said and swung at the chicken when she came close. Chica winced when it hit her arm – _Ow, he can swing really hard_ – but went to grab him again. Chris swung again, but Chica managed to jump back before it hit her side. The bat could really hurt her if it hit an open area or if the guy kept wailing on one spot, but one strong swing already had her wires aching.

“We’re trying to help him!” Chica exclaimed. “You have to stay back!”

Chris nearly tripped over himself at her voice, gaping at her, but then he remembered the note Mike left. Holy shit, he wasn’t kidding. These things were actually _alive_.

“We know you’re important to Mikey. We aren’t going to hurt you,” Chica said. After seeing how important the guy was to Mike, obviously no one was going to kill or maim him, but her eyes were firm. “But you have to stay away and I’m going to do everything I can to keep you away.”

Chris shifted his grip on the bat’s handle. “And I’m going to do everything to I can to smash you,” he hissed. He swung at her again.

Chica grabbed the bat with a surprising amount of trouble and yanked it towards her. Chris let out a startled yelp and let go, trying to stumble back, but Chica didn’t let him get far. She lifted a leg and snatched the man’s chest in her talons to quickly pin him to the floor. Chris shouted when the back of his head hit the floor, but ignored the ringing in his skull to grab at her toes.

_Holy fuck, she could easily crush me._

“Sorry!” she exclaimed at Chris’s pained cry. She didn’t want to do anything to actually hurt him, but he needed to be subdued.

“Get the fuck off me!” Chris snarled. His eyes snapped back to Mike, wild. “Mike!”

All he could see from his angle was Bonnie’s back. He recognized the black lines that came from the shoulder joints of the animatronic. How the hell did these things have Mike’s powers? Had Mike known about this? Why hadn’t he said anything after Chris found out about his powers?

“Just stay calm,” Chica said to him. She sounded apologetic. “He’s going to be okay.”

“Does he fucking sound okay?!” the man roared at her. Fuck, she wasn’t budging and he was at a terrible angle. “What are you even doing to him?!”

“We’re helping him!” Chica yelled. She knew it looked like all kinds of bad from his angle, so she couldn’t blame him for his struggling. “We’ll explain everything, just stay down and let Bonnie heal him.”

The hazel eyes were wide with disbelief. “Heal him?!”

It was like magic happened at his words. The Tear finally finished knitting itself together. Bonnie's lines pulled back almost immediately. “It’s done,” he breathed, relieved.

Mike’s screams finally died away, his sounds quiet and hoarse whimpers. The teen was twitching like someone had attached a jumper cable to him. His grip on Foxy’s hand loosened. His eyelids were fluttering, his brightening eyes glazed with exhaustion. Ink dribbled from his whole face and onto the floor. It was even bigger than the one from last Friday.

Foxy grabbed a towel on the table and went to carefully clean off Mike’s face. “It’s over, Mikey,” he said gently. “It’s over. It’s okay now.”

Chris just stared, hazel eyes nearly blank.

Once Mike’s face was clean, Freddy looked at Chica. “Let him go.”

Chris wrenched away from her the moment her grip became loose. He stared at her, baffled and furious, before shooting to his feet. He ran over to Mike without a second thought for his safety. Bonnie stood up quickly and moved out of the way. Mike didn’t seem to hear him, his body quivering lightly and his breaths ragged.

“What did you do?” Chris growled at the rabbit. “What did you do to him?”

Mike lifted up his head, dazed eyes focusing on him. “Chris?”

Freddy’s eyes returned to normal, the restraints on Mike’s legs withdrawing, and outstretched his grip. Chris looked at him cautiously for a moment before taking ahold of Mike. The animatronic let go completely, leaving the janitor to hold the guard. “Mike?”

The teen slumped against him, his legs too weak to keep him standing. Chris dropped to his knees, lying Mike across his lap. “Kiddo?”

The glassy blues slid to him slowly. “’m cold,” he mumbled.

The blanket came out of nowhere. Chris jerked his head back when the white fabric was dropped in front of his face. He looked up to see Freddy handing it to him, like an olive branch. Chris took it hesitantly, he didn't care where it came from, watching in case the bear tried anything, before tucking it around Mike.

Mike hummed and snuggled against Chris’s chest. The erratic heartbeat didn’t deter his exhaustion. “Better.”

Chris was still frowning. “Are you hurt?”

“Not anymore,” the teen murmured. His eyes were glazed with exhaustion. “’hey fixed it.”

A concerned brow was raised. “Fixed what?”

Freddy answered for him. “The Tear.”

Fuck, his voice was _way_ deeper than it was during the shows. How the fuck was that possible? Chris glanced at him, skeptical. How did they know about it in the first place? What exactly had they done?

“Feel a lot better,” Mike mumbled.

Chris reached up and wiped the tear tracks off of Mike’s face. “That’s good,” he said. He sounded like a grownup telling a child that their plastic meal was delicious.

“’m sorry I lied.” Mike nuzzled his head against Chris’s chest like an apology. “I just wanted to know.”

“You scared the absolute fuck out of everyone,” Chris said a little roughly. “We thought you were going to kill yourself.” _And you nearly did from the looks of it._

“Sorry." He really was. He hadn't meant everyone to think that. Sure, everything could have gone horribly wrong, but he hadn't come here for that.

“Yeah, you better be.” He couldn’t help but be a little angry with the kid. “Why the hell didn’t you say anything about…?” He gave the animatronics a quick glance. All of them had backed away to give the two space. “This?”

“It was our secret,” the raven-head whispered.

Freddy frowned at that. “Michael, you didn’t have to keep that. Especially after…”

“Wanted to,” Mike retorted raggedly. He let out a small yawn. “’m tired.”

Chris couldn’t help but shoot a glance at Bonnie. The rabbit’s ears twitched nervously at the angry eyes. “H-he can sleep,” he answered, almost breathlessly. Now that he wasn't blinded by anger, Bonnie couldn't help but feel a little scared of the janitor.

The fact that these things _knew_ what Mike could and couldn’t do when it came to these powers… Chris shifted the blanket around Mike. “Get some rest, Mike. We’ll talk about this later.”

“Stay here?”

“Sure,” he said, though he wasn’t sure if Mike was wanting them both to stay at the pizzeria. That was a no. “Just go to sleep, kiddo.”

“Be nice t' each other,” the boy slurred before finally going limp.

The hazel eyes were burning darkly when they looked up at Freddy. “Sure thing.”

Freddy cleared his throat. “Chris,” he started. The man stiffened at his name. That was creepy. “It might be better if you sit down for this.”

Chris stood up cautiously, shifting Mike in his arms. It was obvious the kid was going to be out for a while, and honestly Chris was thankful that he wasn’t going to be awake for this.

Chica watched as Mike’s arm slipped from underneath the blanket. “You can set him on the stage–.”

“I’m not trusting Mike near any of you!" Chris snapped.

Bonnie's ears curved back nervously. "We fixed-."

"Something that _he_ caused!” Chris pointed at Foxy. The fox winced. He turned his burning gaze onto Foxy. “Which, by the way, I have no clue if it was really an accident or not because I just found out you’re alive. You could have down it on purpose.”

“It was an accident,” Foxy said quickly. He looked horrified at the accusation. “I never meant to hurt Mikey.”

Could Chris really trust those words after everything they’ve done to the kid, especially Foxy?

“You have no reason to believe us, but it truly was an accident,” Freddy stated.

“Think what you want, it’s the truth,” Chica added. “We’re not sure how we can convince you on that.”

Chris wasn’t sure either. He looked down at Mike. “I’m putting him in the truck.”

“So you’re going to let your truck run for over an hour?” Chica asked, frowning. Chris raised a brow at her. “And leave him outside alone?”

“Again, not too keen on trusting the four animatronics that have been murdering and traumatizing people for years and who nearly killed Mike,” he deadpanned. “I feel that he’s safer outside in a locked vehicle than in here.”

Bonnie frowned. “We could stand against the wall in your line of sight,” he suggested. At Chris’s eye, he said, “It’s better if he’s in here. We can monitor him for any problems better.”

“I thought you said he was healed,” Chris said, a growl slipping into his voice.

“That Tear was open and bleeding for nine years,” the rabbit told him almost flatly. “It’s healed, but there’s a high chance of side effects."

Point taken. Chris glanced back at the stage, then looked back at them. “All of you better stay in my sight,” he said to them, annoyed. Fuck, he hated having Mike in here unconscious, but he knew jack-shit about this soul stuff. "And none of you go near the stage."

They nodded.

Chris turned hesitantly and made his way to the stage. He glanced back every few steps to see if they were following, but they remained where they were. They glanced at him as well, as if to reiterate their promise, but were mostly focused on whispering to each other. He wasn’t sure if he liked the whispering, but he didn’t push his luck.

The distance from the stage to the floor was substantial, it reached just under Chris’s chest, but he didn’t waste time getting out one of the wheeled stairs and instead lifted Mike onto it. He gently pushed the boy until any threat of Mike falling off was avoided. The floor was going to kill the kid’s back, but Chris couldn’t hold him all night. At least there would be some distance between the kid and the robots.

The man sighed. “Of course you’re the one person in the whole world to make friends with a bunch of murderous robots,” he whispered to Mike. “Wouldn’t expect it to be anyone else.”

Mike just slept on. At least someone was getting some rest tonight.

Chris ran a hand over Mike’s hair to smooth it down. He didn’t want to be in here with these things, he especially didn’t want Mike to be in here with them, but this was the only way he was going to get answers. He hated that he was practically defenseless in here. He didn’t care how many times they said they wouldn’t kill him and Mike, Chris didn’t trust that they wouldn’t snap his neck the moment the moment he tried to leave with the kid later.

Something tapped his shoulder. Chris jerked his head over to see a pillow hanging by a literal thread. By a black and suspicious thread. He nearly jumped out of his shoes. “Jesus!” he yelped.

“Told ye,” Foxy muttered to Bonnie.

“He said not to go near the stage,” the older argued.

The janitor snatched the pillow from the line’s hold. Almost immediately it retracted back to Bonnie, retreating through the animatronic’s wrist. Chris couldn’t help but shiver at the sight before carefully turning back to Mike. He maneuvered it under the boy’s head, then adjusted the blanket. Mike remained limp and asleep, blissfully unaware.

At least he wouldn’t wake up with a headache from the floor.

When Chris came back, Chica extended the bat towards him. “If it makes you feel safer…”

Realizing she hadn’t put it down unnerved Chris. “It doesn’t make me feel as safe back when I thought you were all just mindless robots,” he said. He took it anyway. “Now that I know you can grab and dodge things.”

“I mean, that one hit you got in really hurt,” the chicken admitted. She rubbed her arm. “So it should make you feel safer. My arm still aches.”

“I played baseball for a while as a kid.” Why the hell would he tell them that? “It should hurt.” He looked at them. “So are you going to tell me just what the hell your deal is?”

Freddy gave a somber nod. “Have a seat.”

\- - - - -

“…What the absolute fuck?”

Everyone would admit that the reaction was probably the tamest they were going to get from Chris.

“Let me get this straight.” Chris pinched the bridge of his nose like it would anchor him. “You’ve been sentient since you were created, the five kids that went missing and died here were put _inside_ of you and you have these magic powers because of them, you killed the guards because the murderer was a guard, which made you think that anyone in that position was evil and that adults couldn't be trusted, and you didn’t know who Mike was because you thought he died in the Bite.”

Everyone glanced at each other. It sounded minimalistic like that. Far too watered down to sound too horrifying. “Yeah,” Bonnie said slowly. “That’s basically it summed up.”

Chris couldn’t help but shift uncomfortably. “The kids… Jesus, the papers never said anything about that. We were just told that they were stabbed to death and hidden until the killer released their bodies.” It made his stomach twist. He didn't like the animatronics, but being forced to carry children's corpses... Jesus, he just thought that this was just mindless killing when he read Mike's note, but to know _why_... 

Everyone grimaced. “They were,” Chica said softly. “But Patterson put them inside of us.”

“Why?” Chris asked, confused. “You’re telling me this guy murdered a bunch of kids just to put them inside of a bunch of robots? There’s got to be something behind that.”

“We don’ care why he did it,” Foxy snapped, eyes flashing. “He did it, end of story.”

“What happened to him?” Bonnie asked. The others looked at him oddly. “We heard he was arrested, but the staff was banned from talking about him.”

Chris knew the answer to that. “He was executed,” he said. “It was in the paper. He was killed in…December, I think? Pretty sure it was even the same year. Fastest I’ve heard anyone on death row getting their due.”

“He’s dead.” There was a question in Foxy’s tone.

“Yeah.” Chris, however, saw the skepticism on their faces. “Look, I’ll bring you a copy of the paper myself if you don’t believe me, but he’s dead.”

“We would like to see that paper,” Freddy said. They wanted to believe Chris, but after last week, they needed to see the proof themselves. Maybe it had been something else controlling the suit, a vengeful spirit whose death they caused, but for the moment they had to believe that he wasn't completely gone.

If that was what they needed to stop their killing spree… “I’ll get Logan to dig it up,” Chris said.

“Thank you.” Freddy sounded relieved and looked incredibly grateful. It was a little unnerving.

“Just because he’s dead doesn’ mean he’s gone,” Foxy muttered, his tone almost flat.

Chris huffed. “Yeah, I don’t know about you, but I think it’d be obvious if he was still around.”

“Then who was possessin’ the fuckin’ suit last week?” Foxy growled.

Wait a minute. “The yellow knock-off of Freddy?” Chris inquired. He then glared at Foxy. “Pretty sure the murderer of five kids wouldn’t protect one himself. It wasn’t him.”

“Then who?” The fox pressed with his question. “If it wasn’ Patterson, then who was?”

_“Please don’t tell them about me yet.”_

Scotty’s voice in his ear sent a shiver down Chris’s spine. He gritted his teeth from the cold. _Fine._. “No clue,” he managed to get out. Fuck, Scotty had made him feel freezing. “But it couldn’t have been Patterson.”

Everyone glanced around. “What was that?” Chica asked, eyes narrowed.

“Maybe a ghost that you guys pissed off by killing.” He let off another shiver before snorting. “Look, can we get back to the point?”

Despite the obvious shift in the air, no one pursued it. Freddy turned his attention back to Chris. “Yes. What else do you want to talk about?”

“So humans naturally have souls, and you got yours from the kids possessing you?” Chris shifted in his spot, uncomfortable at his own question. “So you have to be possessed by something dead or have to come back from being dead to control them like that is what I’m getting from this.”

“We believe so,” the bear said. “But we also think that the Children had a hand in making Michael able to control them.”

“His soul was damaged, but it’s very strong,” Bonnie chimed in. “Almost too strong for his age and size. I think he was overloaded by the energy the Children used to bring him back. Then there’s the possibility that Foxy did the same…”

Foxy shifted. “It’s not a possibility, it’s a fact. Mikey visited me before he came here. There was a link connectin’ us, just like the ones we have fer each other. We're connected, but it's barely even there.” He looked horribly guilty. “I hurt him more than I thought.”

 _Of course Mike somehow left his body on accident,_ Chris thought. _The kid’s insanely lucky sometimes._ “So what does that mean?”

“Now that the Tear’s healed, his soul should calm down, but I’m positive he’ll still be able to control it,” Bonnie said.

“Is it permanent?’ the man asked. He was curious if Mike would have these powers for the rest of his life. Now that there wasn't any threat of him dying via supernatural ailment, he wondered how long these powers would last.

“We’re pretty confident it is,” the rabbit answered. He gave a sheepish frown. “That’s about as good as an answer as we’ll get.”

Chris would take it. "Great, he's going to be the first real superhuman."

"That's not really a bad thing," Chica said softly. If Mike hadn't had those powers in the first place...

"I guess not." He then thought for a moment. “So if we’re talking about souls and ghosts, what happened to the guards you caught?”

Everyone’s expressions became somewhat somber. “They usually pass on right then or shortly afterwards,” Bonnie said. “But sometimes they leave the pizzeria.”

“To go back home,” Chris finished. To their friends, to their families, to their pets, to the love of their lives…

Silence.

“What we’ve done is terrible and unforgivable,” Freddy said after a moment. “We don’t deserve any forgiveness, especially from Michael, but we want to make this right. At least for Michael we can do that.”

Chris raised a brow. Make right the years of killing and terrorizing guards and traumatizing Mike? “By doing what exactly?”

“We can help Mikey with his powers,” Bonnie said. It was more of an assertion than a suggestion. “It took us a while to get used to ours and use them. We can help him take control of them.”

“Has he lost control of them in front of you?” Chica questioned. If he lost control and hurt Freddy on accident, Mike had to have lost control in front of others.

“Yeah, he kicked my locked truck door open and nearly smashed my head in with a cup on accident. He can’t control them barely at all.” Chris, however, didn’t like the idea of Mike being around the animatronics even after everything had been said. “But now that the Tear or whatever you called it is healed…”

Freddy cut in. “He’ll be able to control them much better and without pain, but he’ll have no idea what he’s doing. He needs to be taught what he can and can’t do with them. We know more than the basics.”

The dark hazels narrowed. “Show me one thing that Mike can’t do and I’ll consider going along with this idea.”

Freddy’s eyes darkened, a line slithered from his shoulder joint. Chris sucked in a breath as he watched it reach and grab a chair to lift it effortlessly in the air.

Chris growled. “Okay, you’ve made your point.” The chair was set back on the floor. “So what would you teach him exactly?"

“We’ll each work with him on controlling them mostly. We’ll have him know how to use them normally as well, like for lifting or throwing things."

Chica looked at Freddy pointedly. “Maybe even teleporting…?” There was a giddy hint in her voice.

Chris rolled his eyes. “There’s no way–.”

Freddy was standing by the kitchen door in the blink of an eye. “Yes way,” he said, chuckling.

The man gaped at him, bug-eyed. “What the hell?!” He froze. “Wait, was that how Mike got onto the roof? Did he teleport?”

Freddy appeared back in his original spot. “Yes, actually,” he answered. “He somehow attached to me for a split second and used my ability to teleport, so he technically didn’t do it himself. Still very impressive.”

“So he’d just come in, get his nightly lessons, and then leave?” That sounded way too simple. There had to be a catch.

Bonnie absently tugged at his bow-tie. “Well… There was one thing that we were hoping to do.”

It didn’t sound like Chris was going to like it. Then again, Chris didn’t like any of this. “And what’s that?”

“We want to link our souls to his,” Freddy told him.

Yeah, that was a pretty big catch. “Why?” Chris bit out. Coming here was one thing, but to be connected to these guys?

“It’ll help his soul heal,” Bonnie said, his tone attempting to be reassuring to the man. “It’ll help it strengthen and grow. We’ll be able to communicate with him even if he’s not here, so he can talk to us whenever he needs to when he’s not here.”

Telepathy was a part of this woo-doo deal? Chris tilted his head, skeptical. He thought for a second. “So if he’s having a panic attack, you could calm him down from here?”

“Yes. We could also lend him strength and abilities that we have,” Freddy added.

“You would give an emotionally unstable boy the power of a seven plus foot animatronic?” That sounded really cool but also incredibly dangerous. “What would he even need that for?”

“If he’s in danger,” Foxy grunted. Wasn’t that obvious? “Mikey isn’ a fighter. He’s never been.”

That was true, as much as Chris didn’t want to admit it. “If he backflips and pile-drives a guy twice his size, that’s one of you giving him that power? Not sure how we’d explain that to any witnesses.”

That brought up another point. “It would be obvious if we lent him power, so you need to make sure he keeps his eyes hidden.”

“Why do your eyes do that, by the way? How come it shows through there?”

Everyone looked at each other. “We…don’t actually know,” Chica said slowly. They hadn't actually figured that out.

Then it hit Chris. “Oh, don’t tell me that ‘eyes are the windows to the soul’ saying is actually true,” he groaned, rolling his eyes. English class hadn’t been useless after all.

“That would explain a lot,” Foxy mumbled.

God, this was insane. “So if you connect…”

“We won’t be able to separate unless our links are forcibly broken.”

“Can Mike separate whenever he wants?” Chris asked. He wanted to know if the kid even had the choice.

“It’s…painful,” Foxy said slowly. He sounded like he was admitting something.

Great.

“Chris.” The man looked up at Freddy. “We understand how you feel about us. You have every right to not want us near Michael, but we can help him understand his powers and we can help him begin to heal. We know what he’s going through. We were there for him as a child, and we want to do everything we can to be here for him now.”

Foxy looked over at the stage. Mike was still asleep. “We’re not losin’ him again.”

Being linked meant that they’d have to be in Mike’s life. They’d be connected to Mike on a deeper level than anyone could be. They’d be able to get to him whenever they wanted, or whenever Mike needed them. Chris would have to see and talk to them, the things that murdered and traumatized people he knew as friends. He didn’t have a choice, he’d have to let Mike come here and be around them.

And as much as Chris hated to admit it, he knew Mike needed them.

Chris sighed deeply. “Look, I don’t like that this is happening, but this is the only option we’ve got. If this helps Mike, which it better fucking help, then just do it.” That was as much permission as he was going to give them.

Everyone looked at each other, then their eyes bled to black. The room fell away for them, replaced with a blackened plain. They were in a circle, separated evenly with their souls and figures laced with white. White lines were crossed through the middle, each one finding an ending to them. They were connected, but they could see their links in this plain. It was an accident when they discovered this place.

Mike stood in the middle. His soul, laced with white, pulsed gently. A link from Foxy was already there, still tattered and weakened from ’87.

They reached out and connected to the soul’s surface. Foxy didn’t strengthen his link, he waited. They wouldn’t force their links on Mike. In the end it was his decision, his choice, whether to let them in or not. Until their links were forcibly broken, they wouldn’t be able to separate from Mike. They would be linked forever.

But they would make that time count.

_"Michael? Can you hear us?"_

_"Y-yeah? What's happening?"_

_"We wanted to connect with you, sweetie. We're going to help you control your powers."_

_"And we'll fix everythin' we've done ta ye. We want ta help ye."_

_"Michael, if we connect, then it'll be almost impossible for us to separate. This is your choice and yours alone."_

_"But even if you don't want us to link, we’ll make this right, Mikey. We promise."_

_"...Does this mean you'll all stay? All of you?"_

_"We'll stay regardless of the link, Mikey. We'll stay if ye want us ta stay. We won' ever leave ye again if that's what ye want."_

_"Promise?"_

_"We promise."_

A moment passed. Then the boy’s soul let out a deep pulse. _"Okay."_

Their links pulsed, Foxy’s healing and strengthening, and they connected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue will be up in a few minutes!
> 
> Also sorry if it's not really action-packed. Chris was totally determined to kick ass, but there's only so much he can do against a 7+ foot animatronic chicken twice his bulk with just a bat. Gotta get a long range weapon, dude.


	35. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short conversation between the ghostly duo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for being here on this journey! Lot's of love and thanks to everyone who stuck around and hopped on this fic!

“You alright, Scotty?”

“Just incredibly relieved that everything turned out okay.”

“It wasn’t like the kid was in any danger. I mean, danger of them killing him. The danger of dying from the healing was a possibility.”

“Y-yeah, but it’s the point, Goldie.”

“Well, that point’s over and down with. Happy ending. Now how when should we introduce ourselves properly?”

“Geez, i-it’s a little early to be thinking about that.”

“The sooner we get it over with, the better. What’s that saying about the band-aid? Those things are gross after they’re used by the way.”

“…True. I-I guess, uh, next week? Let’s let them settle a little first.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the end...of Part 1! This series is just getting started! Stay tuned for the sequel/Part 2 _We'll be Golden_ , which will be up very soon!

**Author's Note:**

> More to come.
> 
> Please note that this is an AU and that some things will be different than the lore and theories. I've done my best to keep as close to the canons as much as a I could, but please remember that I began writing this when the first game came out. Many of my ideas were too solidified to change or alter as the games kept coming.
> 
> Ask me stuff about my AU and various other fandoms on tumblr: https://ofshippingandpancakes.tumblr.com/


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